


A Collection of Shorts

by PickleandtheQueen



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 23,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickleandtheQueen/pseuds/PickleandtheQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically my favorite ficlets/drabbles that I feel like importing from a fic of the same name on my fanfiction.net account :) (If you want to read all of them, my FFN is ShireWulf)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakfast in Bed

Chichi barely suppressed a groan as she surveyed the mess before her. She felt a headache coming on. Trying not to show the horror caused by the destruction of her usually pristine kitchen, she turned her head to take in more of the damage.

Flour, eggshells, bacon grease, splatters of milk and God-only-knows what else covered every inch of her previously gleaming countertop, the stove was littered in filthy pans, dishes were piled higher than she was tall in the sink and – _worst of all_ – her frying pan was nowhere to be found.

The woman inhaled slowly, drawing in as large a breath as her lungs allowed, held it, and let it out in minute increments. Chichi turned around slowly, seeing the two culprits shuffling nervously at the entrance to the kitchen. They had been so, _so_ sweet. And so very, _very_ untidy.

She supposed it was the thought that counted, as breakfast in bed had been a delightful (and delicious) surprise. Chichi felt a smile tugging at her lips as her superb mothering sense tingled in her breast; they had obviously been hoping to clean up before she finished her stack of blueberry pancakes topped with butter, home-tapped maple syrup, strawberry slices, and whipped cream, her plate of crispy, beautifully fried bacon, her large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and her piping hot chocolate muffin.

Well, not even the speed of Gohan's _Super Saiyan II_ transformation could have cleared away the disaster in the kitchen in time – indeed, the boy had tried. And failed. _Miserably_. But she couldn't bring herself to be angry at her boys. They were only trying to be helpful, to alleviate some of her stress with a kind surprise. Of course, usually a large mess made her stress level skyrocket.

Not today. Not even the fiery temper of Son Chichi could flare up at those flour-covered faces for long. She gave in to the smile, letting it stretch across her lips and crinkle the skin at her eyes. Chichi walked as quickly and as smoothly as her pregnancy permitted, enveloping her boys in a tight hug. She felt Gohan breathe a sigh of relief, burying his head in her shoulder and Piccolo's arm slowly, shyly, creep around her shoulders.

"Okay," she said after a long, warm moment, "who hid my frying pan?"


	2. Don't Question It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissy Romancy Stuff

Tentatively, rosy lips brushed against emerald. Piccolo pulled away, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"What are you doing?" his voice hitched somewhere in his throat, exiting his mouth a little hoarser than usual. He caught her hand in his, holding her wrist gently.

"Kissing you," Chichi's free hand slid up his chest, under his shirt. Her dark brown eyes, half-hidden beneath her long lashes, captured his own. "Relax." She rolled up onto her toes, kissing him again, longer this time. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, what was this? This sort of behavior could not be appropriate... She pulled away gently, looking up into his face.

"Chichi..." Piccolo allowed her hand to slip through his fingers, his own hand dropping awkwardly to his side, only to hover by her hip. The woman took a step back, her fingers trailing down his stomach, coming to a rest on his belt. "Why?"

" _Why_?" She repeated, not at all quizzical. "Because you're _you_ , and you're always here. If that's not..." Chichi hesitated, "if that's not dedication, caring, then I don't...know...what is..." She looked confused, but her eyes burned with something reminiscent of her fiery temper.

His brows furrowed as he stared down at her, mouth barely open, still tasting her on his lips. No, this stirring in his chest could not be proper, this was Chichi... Gohan's mother, his dead friend's wife. Not... Someone to kiss...

So why was he cupping her face in his hands? Why was he bending down to be level with her? Why, then, was she wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him hard on the lips, and why did he mimic the action, returning the attention?

Her tongue pressed questioningly, and despite part of his brain protesting quietly, he allowed her in, welcomed her, even.

Piccolo broke off the kiss, meeting her gaze. They remained, still, frozen, for a long moment, saying nothing.

"What is this?" he asked, quietly, voice rough. He trailed a hand over her face, fingers quickly entwining themselves the midnight tresses of her hair.

In answer, she pulled him back down to her level, capturing his lips with hers, even as her delicate fingers tickled his ears, eliciting a slight shudder from him.

"This," she whispered, "doesn't need words."

Was this now love felt?

"Don't question it."

 

 


	3. We Really Must Stop Meeting Like This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo's son is always getting himself into trouble. Usually, he can get himself out of it, but occasionally, he bites off more than he can chew...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor Violence (well within the range to be expected in DBZ fics)

His life had been a series of mishaps. Some had been true accidents, and still others had been more…well, "planned" sounded awful. It was not as if he sought out pain or injury. In fact, he _hated_ pain. It was unpleasant and distracting. He just…liked what tended to _follow_ an injury. So, when the teen found himself in a situation where a few scrapes and bruises were likely to occur, he…chose not to get himself out of it.

Daimao Bansuri was not _nearly_ as accident prone as some liked to believe. Suri, however, had not calculated that Vegeta's punch would be near full power.

_That jerk really could not take a joke._

Suri was flat on his back, wheezing painfully and feeling more than a little dizzy. It had been a long time since he had been so aware of each muscle, bone, ligament, and even organ. The Namekian scrunched his eyes shut tight, gritting his teeth and trying to get his breathing back to normal. The wind had been completely knocked from his lungs, but he was not about to fool himself into thinking that was all of the damage the short little space monkey had done with that punch. Honestly. How juvenile. Of course, he had been teasing the Prince, dancing all over the line of what was sane and what was…reckless. It was a fun game, but it had its risks.

_Ah well, at least he was guaranteed a visit to –_

Dimly, he heard screaming, angry screaming. It was his father, yelling at Vegeta. It was mixture of Namekian swears and enraged snarling. The teen groaned, and abruptly, the yelling stopped. Within seconds, strong arms were scooping him up, cradling him against a broad chest.

"Suri, Suri!"

The young namekian grinned through the haze of pain in his stomach and chest.

"Heeeeeeey, Popsicle," he giggled weakly and winced, regretting moving his lungs that much. Vegeta had definitely broken at least three of his ribs.

"Dammit, Boy!" Piccolo snarled, and shook him slightly. Suri grimaced, focusing in on his father's strained face. He blinked, and slowly the chiseled face of his father came into focus.

"C-can you maybe… _not_? Do that?" He was relatively certain that Vegeta's fist had, in addition to breaking his ribs, ruptured at least one organ. There was definitely internal bleeding. "He…punches harder 'n you, Pops," Suri grinned and coughed. He watched his father's face soften in worry, the obsidian eyes transitioning from stones to night sky.

"What the hell have I told you about pissing off His Royal Pain in the Ass?" the warrior namekian murmured gruffly as he scooped Suri up off of the ground. The teen flinched.

"N-not to…?" Suri's vision was starting to haze, and he felt slightly faint. His father cursed, and bundled him close.

He did not remember the most of the flight, other than his father chastising him.

"How could you be so stupid? Vegeta, of all people. Honestly, Boy, I don't know where you get this recklessness!" _Yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah…_ He was already feeling a little better. He probably did not need a full-scale healing… But then again… Fire shot through his chest when his father's feet touched down on the marble flooring of the Lookout, accidentally – he hoped, anyway – jostling the wounded teenager.

"What do we have this time?" It was Dende's soft voice, laced with easy-to-hear concern. Suri opened his eyes, smiling, and tilted his head towards the sound of that clear, kind voice.

"Idiot pressed Vegeta's buttons." Suri's cheeky grin returned, wider this time. His eyes almost disappeared under his chubby cheeks. Piccolo might sound tough, but the man's concern leaked right into his deep, gruff voice.

"That sounds serious," Dende approached, his brow wrinkled in worry, although his voice remained calm. Suri thought he detected a fluctuation in the guardian's ki. "Lay him down here, Piccolo." Suri squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering as Piccolo lowered him to cool marble flooring of the Lookout. Gentle hands, warm with ki and kindness, caressed his head. " _Tsk_ , Suri," Dende tut-tutted, shaking his head as he looked down at the teen. He smiled, and Suri's heart skipped a beat. It had the unfortunate consequence of causing the Guardian's smile to fade as he undoubtedly sensed the minor, temporary arrhythmia. "This is quite a grievous injury, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Just that we really must stop meeting like this," Suri chuckled, beaming as Dende froze, his slender hands twitching, the healing ki flow concentrating over one spot. Soft lips parted, and a decidedly violet blush flushed Dende's emerald cheeks. Suri grinned, his cheeks dimpling with the force of his smile.

 _Oh yeah. Mission accomplish—_ "Ow! Dad what the Hell?" Suri yelped as his father cuffed his ear. The young namekian turned his face from Dende to Piccolo. A muscle in the man's jaw was twitching, brow drawn tightly, a vein on his forehead throbbing, ears pinned. Suri swallowed.

"Stop flirting and let Dende work, you horrible child!"

"Piccolo, really it's fine…" Dende laughed quietly, nervously, and his hands went back to work, healing the teen's injuries.

Suri let his head fall back; this time, _he_ was the one blushing…

 

 


	4. Let Her Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You’ve always abandoned her/him/them easily, and fetching her/him/them again when you finally remember.” (Piccolo/Chichi/Goku)

Piccolo floated several hundred feet above the house. His aura was threatening, stormy. Goku frowned, tilting his head to the side as he descended, nearing his longtime ally and friend.

“Piccolo?” he paused, level with the namekian, “what are you doing here?” And how had Piccolo known that he would be coming home for a visit? He hadn’t told anyone.

“How long are you planning to stay, Goku?”

“Huh?” Goku’s brow furrowed, face screwing up as he tried to make the connection to his question and the one Piccolo had shot back in reply. “I dunno, as long as ever, I guess.”

That was apparently the wrong answer. Piccolo was no longer an amicable distance from him. Their noses touched, Piccolo’s face splitting in two, making the snarl lines all the more terrifying as Goku went cross eyed. He jumped back. “Piccolo?!” He certainly didn’t want to hurt the namekian, and Piccolo knew that he had no real chance of winning in a fight, didn’t he? Wait why were they fighting in the first place? _Were_ they fighting?

“ _‘As long as ever?’_ So until some new adventure presents itself?” Goku tried to read Piccolo’s face. It was always hard, especially with Piccolo, who wore a mask made of his own face most of the time. Except when he was angry. Goku could see the anger, that was easy. But what was the other part of it?

“I mean, you know, until the Earth needs me to do something else.”

“What about Chichi?”

Goku’s lips parted, and he had to bite his tongue to stop from replying _“what about her?”_ It wasn’t that he didn’t realize she hated it when he left. He knew it…and he cared. But… He _had_ to leave. Adventuring was a part of him. She knew that. “Hmph,” Piccolo crossed his arms, closing his eyes. “What you do to her isn’t fair, Son.”

 _Son_? That was an old monicker, at least from Piccolo. He hadn’t been _Son_ to the namekian in years…

“Chichi understands,” he began, but Piccolo cut him off with a snarl.

“She may _understand_ , and she may _seem_ fine to the others, but the boys know, the boys see. _I_ see, Goku. We all see her heart break again, with each time you leave. What about yours? Does it break when you leave?”

Goku shook his head, blinking. Where was Piccolo going with this? “No? It does not pain you to leave?”

“No, I mean I don’t like hurting them, but I need to go sometimes.”

“Then don’t hurt them. Or at least let her _move on_.” There was a strange note in Piccolo’s voice, one that Goku could not identify. It was familiar…but it seemed wrong accompanied with Piccolo’s gruff snarl of a voice. Maybe Bulma would know what it was. Or Chichi.

“What are you saying?” he asked as the silence dragged on between them.

Piccolo closed his eyes, exhaling in a long sigh.

“I’m asking you to stop abandoning her and coming back to her when it’s convenient, or to let her go.”

“So…stay forever…or leave forever?” How would him leaving forever help Chichi? Was it the whole _moving on_ thing? Moving on from him?

“I can’t make the choice for you, but I’m asking you make it for _her_ sake.”

Goku met Piccolo’s eyes, reading fire and pain, not unlike how his eyes appeared in the midst of battle.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said quietly. Piccolo nodded, and was gone with a dramatic swish of his cape. Goku had the feeling that he had not gone far.

_Crouching in a tree not far from the Son House, Piccolo watched Goku fish the key out from under the flower pot under the doorbell, and enter the little cottage. A selfish part of him hoped that the man was going to choose the latter option._


	5. I've Been Buying the Wrong Underwear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a Series of Prompts I Received on Tumblr

“Okay, so,” Piccolo did not think he had ever seen Chichi so nervous in the three years they had been together. Not since the first time they had decided to have sex, anyway. He stared at the white shirt-box she held in her shaking hands, cocking an eyebrow. “This might be weird. And you can totally say no if it’s like. Too weird.”

“Chichi...?” The namekian tilted his head to the side, ears and antennae flopping to the side with the movement. “What’s…what’s in the box?” In response, the tiny woman shoved the seemingly offensive object into his hands. He straightened, holding it in one hand and lifting the lid with his left. 

Light from the overhead lamp fell on the contents of the box, illuminating the source of Chichi’s anxiety. Piccolo’s brow furrowed, face scrunching in confusion. Underwear? Well, panties, he admitted, allowing the lid to fall to the floor so he could lift the purple lace from the box. “These look far too big for you,” he commented, ears flicking, lips pursed in a frown. And why in heaven’s name would she be so concerned about showing him a pair of panties. They’d had sex more times than he cared to count, and it was not as if either of them were particularly prudish when it came to Chichi wearing lust-evoking undergarments. 

“They’re… they’re not for me…” Chichi squeaked, and Piccolo blinked. Oh.  _ Oh _ . “Never mind! I knew it would be too weird, just forget I ever brought it up I -”

Piccolo held the panties up to his waist. 

“I think they’ll fit,” he commented dryly, cutting Chichi off mid-sentence. 

“...You...you mean you’ll wear them?” Chichi sounded incredulous. 

“Why wouldn’t I? Are these not intended to be sexual garments designed for lovemaking? Or, rather, pre-lovemaking?” Chichi blinked, and he could tell that his response was not the one she had been expecting. “Am I wrong?”

“Well, no, I mean, those are sexy panties. But I mean, they're traditionally… Women’s panties.”

There was silence for a brief moment. Piccolo blinked at her, processing. 

“My race is a single sexed people, Chichi.” He finally said, rather matter of factly. “While I do understand that Earth traditionally views gender as a strict binary, I myself do not align fully with the Earth equivalent of ‘male.’ I will be right back.” 

He left her standing by the dresser, looking confused, but he thought also rather contemplative. Humans tried to make things far too black and white. He snorted, and began to strip. Once his lower half was naked, Piccolo stepped carefully into the purple lace, pulling it up his large frame. 

He admired his reflection in the mirror, pursing his lips and considering the way the lace clung to and accentuated his form. “Huh.” They were incredibly comfortable. Piccolo’s tongue ran over his teeth. He rather liked these. 

Clad in nothing but the clingy purple lace panties, Piccolo threw open the bathroom door, arm outstretched in conviction. 

“Piccolo!” Chichi began, but he cut her off.

“Chichi. I have been buying the wrong underwear.” 


	6. Med School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Sifl :) From the DBZ Fanfic Exchange on Tumblr

The warm fuzzies were not exactly the feeling Dende thought he was going to experience while standing over the cadaver his lab group was dissecting. But there he was, heart hammering, throat swelling up, tongue tingling, and fangs burning, as he made eye contact with the handsome student stand across from him, scalpel in hand. 

He must have dissected a half dozen cadavers throughout medical school. He had always received top marks for his clean incisions. His steady hand. 

Yet he felt himself shaking, heart pounding so frantically he was convinced it was about to jump out of his chest. Perhaps the smiling stranger would perform the autopsy, declare cause of death to be  _ Love at First Sight. _

Dende squeaked as the supervisor cleared her throat.

“Mr. Porunga, what is the hold up?”

Dende’s emerald skin flushed maroon, and he shook his head. 

“S-sorry.”   
“Stage fright is not a good quality in surgery, Mr. Porunga.”

He felt, more than saw, the cute bespectacled student smile reassuringly at him. Dende swallowed - damn it was difficult with just how thick and stuck it felt -  and closed his eyes for a moment before he felt prepared enough to continue. Of course, now he felt like a complete idiot. Probably was going to be the laughing stock of the program… 

 

“Hey,” Dende’s dark blue eyes flicked up from his hands in the sink. He jumped, realizing it was the handsome bespectacled student who had caused his stomach to perform acrobatic feats worthy of a circus. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!” The other student’s face flushed as much as Dende’s. 

“Um, it’s… It’s fine, I um… I’m just a jumpy person.” He offered a weak smile before offering his hand, withdrawing it before the other could so much as raise his own at the realization it was dripping wet. “Sorry, sorry.” He was torn between shoving them under the noisy dryer or wiping them on his traditional robes in an uncouth manner. 

“Don't worry about it!” More laughter, and Dende chose the dryer, face burning a bright purple color. What was wrong with him? Oh right, he was in love. No, no, not love! But it certainly was not… lust either. 

Finally, he turned again to the attractive stranger, trying to control his flushing face. How incredibly embarrassing. 

“My… um,” Dende faltered, “my name is Dende.”

“I’m Gohan.” 

Dende felt his hand wrapped up in Gohan’s, dimly aware of his attractive colleague and classmate shaking it. He was too distracted by the warmth seeping through Gohan’s hand into his own, up his arm and lighting up his usually emerald face like a neon sign. 

“I’m sorry,” Dende repeated, feeling incredibly foolish as their hands separated. Gohan looked confused, his brow crinkling. Dende had to restrain himself from reaching out to smooth the wrinkles with a gentle thumb. 

“For what?”

“I’m just,” Dende bit his lip, unsure how to continue, “I’m just not sure why you are talking to me… I made a fool of myself in the dissection, and -” 

“Do you want to get out of the bathroom?” Gohan interrupted softly, “maybe go grab a smoothie at that place across the street?” 

“Oh, um…” Dende nodded, completely taken off guard, and found himself following Gohan out the door and into the hallway.

“You didn’t make a fool of yourself, Dende,” Gohan’s voice was soft with the definite hint of a smile in it. He was taller than Dende by about a head, face tilted away from him. “I found myself incredibly impressed by your skill with a scalpel. You’re going to make a brilliant surgeon.”

“But - I froze!” Why in the world was he refusing to accept the compliment?! 

“Better to pause for a moment to make sure everything is in order than to dive in and realize a mistake has been made.” Dende’s ears perked, and some of the embarrassment from earlier faded. 

“I…” the namekian paused, “I had not thought of it that way… Even so, I … I had stage fright, it wasn’t…” Dende’s voice puttered out as Gohan flashed a dazzling smile at him. His heart was racing again, thump-thump thumping in his chest, stomach trying to claw its way up through his esophagus. Or maybe that was a different organ. He really didn’t want to think about that just now. 

“I certainly hope I wasn’t the cause of any stage fright,” Gohan winked, and Dende’s heart performed a somersault. Oh dear Katas he knew. Dende’s face flushed once more to maroon as Gohan’s hand slipped around his, tugging him along to the smoothie shack. “And if I was...well, smoothies are on me.” 

How on earth was he going to survive the semester? 

Unless, of course… Dende felt his face light up with a smile. 


	7. Can You Be Any Louder

It was almost a typical Saturday afternoon; Piccolo had been left in charge of Bra and Pan, as was typical. He preferred having only having Pan, but at least when he had the two of them he didn’t have to come up with as many things to do. Typically, they just played together and he ensured that they didn’t accidentally kill each other as part-alien babies had a tendency to do. In fact, the only atypical thing about this particular sunny Saturday was that Vegeta had joined in with the kids. Usually, His Royal Pain in the Ass kept his distance, either sparring with Goku or some robot Bulma had made for the gravity chamber. But today, Bra had won her grouchy father over and had dragged him along. Piccolo would have been more upset about the unusual development had the girls wanted to play house or tea party - Bra’s favorites - but today, Pan’s game of Hide and Seek had won out.

Unfortunately for Piccolo, Vegeta was not taking the game very seriously. 

“Vegeta,” the namekian hissed, glowering at the saiyan from his far more clever hiding place. Piccolo was cleverly crouched on top of a cabinet, having abandoned his weighted clothing much earlier in the day. Vegeta, on the other hand, was standing behind a floor length curtain. “Could you be any louder?” The saiyan was shifting from foot to foot, huffing in irritation, and in general, making too much noise to effectively play the game.

“This game is a waste of time. We could be training.”

Piccolo shrank back against the wall as Pan’s squealing little giggles drew near.

“Ready or not, here I _co-_ ome!” despite having the least saiyan in her of all the offspring, Pan certainly made the most of the blood she had. The little girl squealed as she found Bra hiding somewhere out of Piccolo’s sight. “Gotcha! Let’s find Uncle Piccolo and your daddy!” Four tiny feet pounded down the hall, and Piccolo could only hope that the half-pints would not hear the sound of the prince’s head hitting the wall over the sound of their own feet. He could not exactly pinpoint why exactly he cared so deeply about giving the little girls a good game, but he had to think it had something to do with the way their shining wide eyes filled with joy when they were having fun. God, he was getting soft. 

The two little ones made their way into the room where Piccolo and Vegeta hid. They were still giggling and having a grand old time holding hands and searching, but it didn’t take them very long to find Vegeta. 

“DADDY!” Bra pulled the curtains to the side, and although Piccolo could not see her face, her shoulders were hunched up around her neck. Annoyed then. “Panny and I could hear you! You’re supposed to be quiet during hide and seek!” Vegeta, to his credit, did not roll his eyes. 

“Daddy just isn’t very good at this game, my Princess,” the saiyan grunted, scooping his daughter up into his arms. The blue haired little one seemed to forgive him and kissed his cheek. Pan had immediately ignored Vegeta and Pan, and had continued her search for Piccolo. The namekian glanced at Vegeta, holding his breath. His knees were starting to ache from remaining in the odd, cramped position. 

“I wonder where Uncle Piccolo is,” Pan mused, starting to move towards the door. Vegeta coughed, and Pan turned to look at him. Piccolo glowered at the top of the saiyan’s head. Fucker. The prince inclined his head towards the cabinet. Panny’s eyes lit up and she whipped her head around, spotting the increasingly uncomfortable namekian perched atop the well-built piece of furniture. “UNCLE PICCOLO I FOUND YOUUU!” 

There would be plenty of time to kill Vegeta later, but for now, Piccolo was content to let Pan kiss him on the nose. 


	8. Yoga

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Chichi hissed, hugging the rolled up yoga mat tightly to her bosom. “Youare such an _ass_ , you know that?”

“Do you want different pants?”

Chichi flushed, squeezing the yoga mat more harshly. She shook her head and followed Piccolo over to the bank ofthe waterfall. “Are you sure?”

“Why are you so concerned with my wardrobe?”

Piccolo looked over his shoulder and down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not.” He stopped, examined the ground, and nodded to her. “Roll your mat out here,” the Namekian gesturedwith his foot to a flat, grassy area of the bank. He himself sat down a short distance in front of the spot he hadindicated to her. 

“Well,” Chichi paused, couldn’t think of anything to say, and huffily rolled out her mat. “I still don’t understand whyyou’re making me do this.”

“ _I,_ ” Piccolo muttered, legs extended in front of him as he stretched his muscles, “am not making you do anything. Imerely suggested you attempt a relaxing activity such as meditation. You then proceeded to figuratively bite myhead off. And yet we find ourselves here.”

She flopped down onto the squishy of foam of the yoga mat and kicked off her tennis shoes, arranging her limbs ina form similar to Piccolo’s lotus. “I would suggest stretching first.” The little woman glared daggers at him butunfolded her legs. Her arms stayed crossed irritably below her breasts.

Piccolo rolled his eyes at her before leading a series of limbering exercises. He occasionally paused to correct acurve in her back, or reposition a limb that did not quite meet his standards. “As you exhale,” his deep, masculinevoice flowed over her eardrums, “stretch deeper into the position. Your muscles should be warmed up by thispoint.”

She refused to look at him, he was not allowed to know how good all of this felt. The waterfall crashing in thebackground was oddly calming in its power and strength, a Titan contained.

“Now,” Piccolo began, settling himself on his heels with the tops of his feet pressed almost flat to grass. “We’ll moveon to opening the spine.” Chichi mimicked the posture, wiggling about slightly to get comfortable. She watched himas he placed the heels of his palms on his knees and rolled his shoulders forward, curving his back as he bowed hishead, chin touching chest.

Chichi mimicked the movement, hissing as her vertebrae stretched, the back of her neck twinged slightly. “Slowly,”Piccolo chided her in a murmur. “Relax. Don’t force it.”

She opened an eye to glare at him, but he had already looked away. “On your inhale, raise the head up, look to thesky, press your shoulder blades together and arch your back. Slowly.”

She did as she was bidden, holding her breath, waited. “Exhale and roll forward. We’ll repeat this three more times.”

It felt amazing. 

“Next,” Piccolo’s voice blended into the waterfall, matching it rumble for rumble. “We’ll go into Child’s pose…”


	9. Parent Teacher Conferences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FOR CHICCOLO WEEK: DOMESTIC

“Isn’t this exciting?” Chichi gushed, holding Piccolo’s arm as she lead him down the hallways toward Goten’s classroom. “Your first parent-teacher conference!” She sighed, leaning her head against her husband’s bicep. 

Piccolo grunted. “Oh, come  _ on _ , please  _ pretend _ to be excited!” Chichi tugged his arm down, causing him to stumble ever so slightly. 

“Chichi,” Piccolo crinkled his nose as she looked up at him with sparkling eyes. “I’m just not particularly fond of people. And talking about things I don’t understand…” He sighed, “Gohan taught me to read, you know. Any maths I understand, I learned from Gohan and from studying his textbooks after everyone else had gone to sleep. History…” 

Chichi’s hand slid down his forearms, allowing her to entwine her fingers with his. 

“Oh  _ honey _ ,” she gave him a little squeeze. “All you have to know is A’s are great, B’s are good, C’s are okay but means we need to help them a bit more with their studies, and D’s mean we should probably hire a tutor.” She was rewarded by a deep, throaty chuckle. 

“Is that all?” he returned the gentle squeeze, tugging her closer to his side. 

“That’s  _ all _ ,” she affirmed, and stopped them both outside of a classroom. “Here’s Goten’s room! Just remember,” she began smoothing his collared shirt and adjusting his tie. “We’re just here to listen to what the teacher has to say, and you don’t really have to understand anything about school, okay?” 

Piccolo grunted, but did not protest further. He followed her into the classroom, and she watched him pretending to ignore all of the motivational posters hung around the room. It was obvious, at least to her, that Piccolo was taking it all in. 

She subtly cleared her throat, inclining her head towards two chairs across from the teacher at a cluttered desk. 

“You must be the Son’s?” Goten’s teacher asked, standing and offering his hand. 

“ _ Daimao _ ,” Chichi corrected quietly before Piccolo had a chance to protest. “Goten has his father’s name, but I’ve remarried.” She took and shook the teacher’s hand, and the man apologized, face flushing. Chichi waved off the apology with a smile. “This is my husband, Piccolo.”

“Pleasure,” Piccolo muttered, taking the teacher’s hand before following Chichi’s example and sitting in the too-small chair. It creaked under his weight, and she saw him stiffen, and she wondered if his ass was even touching the chair at this point, or if he were doing a sort of open air wall-sit. 

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” the teacher cleared his throat, and shifted some papers on his desk. “Goten is a pleasure to have in class…”

“But?” There was always a but,  _ especially _ with her kids… Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Piccolo’s shoulders hunch.

“But, I’m concerned that he might need some extra supports; he has trouble concentrating for any period of time,” the teacher looked incredibly nervous, and Chichi had to wonder how many parents reacted negatively to something like this. Well, Goten was her child, and she knew exactly how small his attention span was, and what his energy level could be… “He’s incredibly bright, and when something interests him, he gets hooked, and becomes frustrated when it’s time to change the subject.”

“Huh…” that, while not exactly something she had noticed in his behavior at home, made sense. “What is it he typically enjoys and pays the most attention to?” Her money was on gym class. 

“Music.” 

“Music?” Piccolo’s deep voice sounded as intrigued as she was.

“Yes,” the teacher nodded earnestly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as it became apparent that neither of Goten’s parents were going to jump down his throat. “He has expressed interest in learning an instrument, particularly -”

“Don’t say  _ piccolo _ ,” Piccolo whispered, and Chichi had to swallow a smile. Such a thing could potentially kill her husband, after all. 

“-the tuba.” She heard Piccolo hiss in victory even as she groaned. 

“The  _ tuba _ ?” The teacher offered a sympathetic smile. 

“Yes, the tuba…” Well, if that was what made Goten happy… “I do feel that he would benefit from such an outlet, as well as some other educational supports…” Chichi listened with rapt attention to what the teacher was saying, and, to her delight, saw Piccolo was paying just as much attention as she was. It was...touching… And it meant so much to her, and his expression was so  _ earnest _ . He was  _ really _ paying attention. It was not an act, and despite his protests about attending initially, he was genuinely here for their kids… Whoops, what was the teacher saying? She hoped he was absorbing enough to tell it back to her. Look at her, zoning out during parent-teacher conferences! The shame of it… She tuned back in just in time to catch Goten’s scores in his classes, and was pleased despite the teacher’s concerns. 

“Wait, he’s failing gym?” Piccolo sounded incredulous. Indeed, something seemed wrong there… “How the hell can he be failing gym? He was the runner-up in the kid’s tournament of the World Martial Arts tournament. Could have competed in the adults - how is he failing  _ gym _ ?”

 


	10. Kick Your Ass Boxing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FOR CHICCOLO WEEK: AU DAY

“I’m actually _begging_ you to come with me.”

“Give me _one_ good reason, Nail,” Piccolo did not even bother looking up from his book. His roommate groaned and noisily flopped back on one of the chairs. “Don’t you dare break that chair, I’m not buying another one.”

_ “I’m not buying another one, _ ” Nail mocked him in a high-pitched, nasally voice. Piccolo opened his mouth to retort but decided against it. He had roomed with Nail for three years now, and knew that this could last all night. “Seriously dude,” Nail adjusted himself in the chair, making it squeak and creak. Couldn’t he do anything quietly? “You should come to kickboxing with me. You know I need a workout buddy, and you’re so good at getting on a schedule…” He heard Nail stand up again, and walk across the floor. Soon, Nail was leaning on his shoulders. He had long since ceased to read, and was, if he were being honest with himself, holding back a smile. “Plllllleeeeeaaaassssse, Pickles?” 

“What have I told you about calling me ‘Pickles,’ Nail?” He managed a growl, but Nail always managed to get under his skin and bypass the walls he had erected around himself. 

“Just agree to go to kickboxing with me, okay? I’ll never call you ‘Pickles’ again. On my life.” Piccolo sighed, letting his shoulders slump and his head fall into his arms on the desk. Nail slipped and ended up laying on him for a moment before recovering and straightening up. 

“I’ll hold you to it,” Piccolo lied. Nail whooped and darted over to his dresser, wrenching open a drawer and rifling through his clothes…

* * *

 

“This...this is not what I expected,” Piccolo muttered as he and Nail poked their heads into Studio One, where the kickboxing class Nail so-desired to attend was being held. For one thing, the gym looked more like a dance studio, and he supposed that the room may be shared by the school’s dance team. But what really stood out was that room had a much greater mix of races and genders than he had been expecting. Wasn’t kickboxing something that girls typically liked? He had very little experience with girls. Namekians were all one sex, after all, and even though gender was a bit of blurred line in their community, most other alien races seemed to have at least two sexes… But humans… well, humans seemed to take the concept of gender and sex to ridiculous levels.

“Did you think I would drag you to a class with all girls?” Nail whispered, “you know they scare me more than they scare you. No matter if they’re human or saiyan or twi'lek, or kaleesh, or whatever else lives on this planet.” 

Piccolo snorted, and the two made their way towards the back of the room, where a series of cubbies stood against the wall. “Okay… So, let’s hang near the back? We’re really tall and - “

“ _Why_ are there so many people _standing around_ in my studio? You know the rules! _Move_! Class starts in three minutes but until then, you’re running!” Nail nearly jumped out of his skin, and Piccolo barely held in a startled movement of his own. Both namekians were caught in the stampede of students and started jogging along with the rest of the pack.

“Who said that?” Piccolo, for all his height, could not find the source of the voice - the instructor, he assumed. Nail made a noise that he took to signify cluelessness, and kept running. A moment later, music blared to life in the small room. It was almost too loud, but his ears would adjust. 

“Pick a spot!” that commanding voice was followed by the group of students scrabbling to find a spot on the floor. “Spread your arms, get personal space. **PERSONAL SPACE ALL AROUND**.” Piccolo found himself boxed in at the front of the room, Nail directly behind him. Finally, he was able to locate the drill master in charge of this class. And his mouth nearly fell open. Standing in front of him was one of the smallest human women he had ever seen in his entire life. She barely reached his chest, but she was  _ stacked _ ; biceps, deltoids, triceps, trapeziuses, abs, obliques - Piccolo forcibly swallowed, and found his mouth far more damp than normal. Oh god. She placed her hands on her hips, and noticed her thighs and calves. Oh _sweet Porunga_. He was going to kill Nail for dragging him to this. _Kill him_. “Alright, Postboy, if you’re already huffing and puffing then you might want to rethink my class. It only gets tougher, bucko.” Piccolo gaped at her, and it took him a moment to figure out she was talking to him. 

“I - I’m fine,” he wheezed, and heard Nail snicker behind him. He wanted to punch him. She looked at him rather skeptically, and he found himself lost in her deep, chocolatey brown eyes. What the ever loving hell was happening? This girl had absolutely no business being this cute and this ripped at the same time. He did not think he had ever seen such a captivating pair of eyes, nor a perfect pair of lips. And that little button nose?

“Okay, so most of you know me from last semester, but I see some new faces. I’m Gyumao Chichi, and this Kick Your Ass Boxing. Since we have the space, we’re gonna use the bags and mats tonight. Buddy up!” 

* * *

“So,” Nail panted, leaning against Piccolo as he tugged on his street shoes, “want to come back for her other classes?” Piccolo grunted, but was already mentally calculating how much time he would spend with Gyumao Chichi if he attended each of her classes. 

“I thought human women were supposed to be fragile?” he mused, “or was that apart of the whole fucked up structure of human society?” 

Nail made a noncommittal noise, and Piccolo decided to err to latter half of his statement. Humans were strange afterall. 

* * *

“Dude, you have to come with me.”

“Piccolo,” Nail stared up at him, “I have a sprained ankle. I cannot go to that class. I literally cannot.” He had a point. But that didn’t mean Piccolo was going to be okay with it. No-sir-ee. He was not okay with going to that class by himself. 

“Who am I gonna have as a partner?”

“Then don’t go.” Nail adjusted the icepack on his ankle, why did he have to play rugby anyway? He was so damn gentle… 

Piccolo grunted and picked up his gym bag, heading out the door. He was too busy trying to convince himself it was just about the routine to hear his roommate chuckle as the door swung shut behind him. 

* * *

“No partner tonight?” Chichi asked, looking around the room while a sheepish and incredibly embarrassed Piccolo stood awkwardly next to her. “Where’s your buddy, Postboy?”

“It’s Piccolo,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head and feeling his cheeks light up in an undignified purple color. It was only made worse when the tiny woman offered him a rare smile, and shook his hand. 

“Alright Piccolo, looks like you’re with me.” She hoisted up a mat, squaring up and settling into a wide stance. “Well, go ahead! Hit me.”

_ Hit _ her? Hit  _ her _ ? 

“No offense but -”

“ _I SAID HIT ME._ ”

Piccolo punched the mat squarely on the target, only using a fraction of his strength. The mat was suddenly shoved into his hands. “When I say, ‘hit me’ you hit me with all you’ve got, is that clear? Now, you seem to have gotten it into your skull that because I’m small, I’m weak.” She somehow had backed him up to the mirrors lining the one wall. How was she getting in his face like this? She barely reached his chest! “So I guess I’ll just have to show you how strong I am!” Piccolo held up the mat just in time to catch her punch and had to take several steps back as she battered the unfortunate mat. He wondered if she had any other outlets for her anger. He had to stop himself from thinking about how he wanted to be an outlet for her… Seriously what was wrong with him? 

“Believe that I can handle a punch now?” she asked, and once again, his stomach did flip flops at the sight of her smile. “Good, gimme the mat and let’s see what you can do, _Postboy_.” She winked, and Piccolo vowed that he was he was going to marry her one day. 


	11. Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for Chiccolo Week's "vacation" day

“You know, the last time I was on a vacation was my honeymoon,” Chichi had her arms around Piccolo’s neck, he was flying at a relatively slow pace, considering she knew the speeds he was capable of reaching. It was all for her benefit, she knew. Perhaps he could teach her how to fly? That sounded lovely… 

“This  _ is _ your honeymoon,” Piccolo said pointedly, and Chichi kissed his cheek, beaming at the disgruntled noise he made in response to the affection.

“My  _ first _ honeymoon.” Piccolo did not respond, but that was just fine. “Aren’t you even the  _ teensiest _ bit excited?” she prodded, pouting up at him. From her current angle, all she could really see were his lips set in his customary scowl, and the sharp, elegant lines of his cheeks and jaw. “Pickaboo?” 

“To be with you? Yes,” he angled down feet first, tucking her against his chest. “To be surrounded by people all of whom are unfamiliar with me beyond my misguided youth and whatever else has been televised, who are going to gape at me and wonder what you are doing with a colossal green grump, and point, and take pictures, and -”

“Oh baby,” Chichi cut him off, her heart heavy in her chest, “I didn’t know you were so against it! We didn’t have to go on one, you know -” It was Piccolo’s turn to cut her off, and he did so as he landed. 

“This is important to you, and, as I said, I am looking forward to spending time with you without having to worry about the children walking in.” There was low purr in the end of his sentence, and Chichi’s heart skipped a beat at the sensual sound. “Just expect me to snarl and sneer at anyone giving us funny looks.” 

“That’s fair,” Chichi kissed him again before jumping down from his arms and smoothing out her skirt. “But don’t you fret, Piccababy! If I catch anyone looking at you with unsavory eyes I’ll knock 'em out!” She punched her open palm for emphasis, earning her a chuckle from her husband.  _ Husband _ ! It seemed to hit her then that they were married, and she threw her arms around Piccolo’s waist. He grunted, a chuckle barely audible as he placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“What was that all about?”

“I’m your  _ wife _ !” She gushed, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. “And you're my  _ husband _ , and this is our  _ honeymoon _ !” 

“And we’re standing outside of our hotel and people are staring.”

“Oh, you!” Chichi swatted his shoulder good-naturedly as she disentangled herself from her husband. Piccolo shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the large backpack containing the belongings Chichi had insisted on packing for a week away from home. For the first time, Chichi looked,  _ really _ looked at the resort hotel. “Oh, oh my  _ goodness _ , this is...stunning!” The hotel - and she did not think such a word was truly appropriate - was a beautiful refurbished castle, nestled in high trees. “How did we afford this? Bulma didn’t pay for it, did she? Oh -”   
“No, I paid for it. I  _ told _ you, I have stores of gold and other valuables from my less-savory days,” he snorted, offering her his arm and leading her into the stately old building. “Bulma merely bought a handful of it off me and Gohan found this place. Said we’d both like it, what with me being the Demon King and you being the Princess of the Ox Kingdom. And now,” his voice dipped low, whispering huskily in her ear, “ _ my queen.” _ Chichi could have swooned, and may have, if it hadn’t been for the Furry behind the desk, welcoming them in.

“Ahh, you must be our honeymooners, the Daimao’s! Yes? Very good, Sir and Madame. Welcome, welcome, let me show you to your room…” 

* * *

Chichi spun around the honeymoon suite, hands clasped below her chin and eyes pointed up at the vaulted wooden ceiling. She felt like a princess in a fairy tale! How long had it been since she lived in a castle? Finally, her eyes fell on Piccolo, standing by the door with one of the softest expressions she had ever seen on his face. Dark eyes watched her, full green lips gently pulled up towards his eyes…

“This is incredible!” she breathed, and he nodded, slowly walking over to her, closing the gap between them. His heavy arms folded around her, pulling her close to the broad expanse of his chest. She closed her eyes, exhaling deeply against his purple sweater. “You’re incredible, for doing this...”

“Mmm,” he nudged her gently with his hips, a large clawed hand stroking her hair. “I am pleased you like it.”   
“Like it?” she gushed, taking a step back and breaking the embrace. She swung her arms out and twirled, her skirt billowing around her, “I love it, this place…” her hands found the bed, and she ran her fingers across the linens, scattering rosebuds. “This bed,  _ oh _ Piccolo we should get a bed like this, your feet won’t hang off the ends in this one!” Chichi turned, and found herself eye level with her husband’s burly chest, and looked up, meeting his smouldering gaze. Her lips quirked, and she batted her eyelashes at him, feigning surprise with a hand on her chest. “My, my, so forward!”

“Speaking of the bed…” Piccolo rumbled, scooping her up in a sweeping motion. Laying her back amongst the roses, her ebony hair fanning out on the pillows, Piccolo hovered over her. His lips were pulled back in a lopsided smirk, hungry. Chichi felt her heart flutter, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for deep, long kiss...


	12. Wonton Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for Chiccolo week's training day

“I think,” Piccolo pursed his lips, “I need more training in this task.” 

“Mmm,” Chichi slipped between him and the stove, nudging him out of the way with her hips. He grunted but stepped back, letting her take back over her thrown. “Let’s see...well,” she took a taste of the soup he had been working on from the ladle, “you’re getting better, Boo.” His lips quirked, both at the use of the petname and the compliment. It had been at least three weeks since she had started teaching him how to cook, and, if he were being quite honest with himself, he had thought that by now he would be able to make a proper egg drop soup. But, as it turned out, Chichi only made everything  _ look _ easy. “Have a taste, and see what you think it needs.” She held the ladle up to his lips, and leaned down to make her life easier. 

“I think it tastes fine.”

“Salt, Piccolo, it needs salt.” She spooned another mouthful past his lips. 

“It’s plenty salty...if you’re a slug.” Chichi’s eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“Oh sweet dragon you’re sensitive to salt.” Piccolo snorted.

“We’ve been together six years and you’re only just now realizing this?”

“I know I’ve seen you eat saltier foods than this,” Chichi’s brows drew together, face puckering in confusion. “I mean, you always eat my egg drop soup, and it’s much saltier than this!”

“I drink a lot of water,” he replied, and took the ladle from her. “What if I put more green onions in? And pepper?”

Chichi blinked, apparently recovering from the realization that she could have killed her partner with a deceptively small amount of salt, and returned to the task at hand. 

“Well, that certainly could work. Salt’s not the be all end all of flavoring food… I suppose it could be beneficial to not have quite as much of the stuff…” Piccolo shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. “What? It’s not like the kids and I can’t just add a little - Dende only knows how much salt Goten already adds to his foods. Actually, I doubt Dende really does know. That doesn’t seem like something worth his time.” That comment earned his wife a full laugh from him. “You know what, let’s try something new. Making egg drop soup must be getting old.” 

“Thought you’d never let me graduate,” Piccolo drawled, and Chichi elbowed him in the ribs. 

“You’re still on soup, mister. We’re just gonna move to wontons. You like mushrooms, right Love?” 

Piccolo grunted in affirmation, and Chichi started listing ingredients. He stared at her for a moment before a quirk of her eyebrows clued him in that he was supposed to be fetching all these ingredients. “There’s premade wonton wrappers in the freezer.” It was his turn to raise his eyebrows at her. Little miss homemade had purchased premade wonton wrappers? She held her hands up, “I make them up in my spare time. Makes my life a lot easier.”   
“You have spare time?” A hand towel snapped lightly between his shoulders as he pulled ingredients out of the fridge, freezer, and cupboards. 

“You’re making dinner now.” He whipped around to stare at her, “well, you’ve already got a pot of egg drop soup, and now we’re gonna make wonton soup.”

“Two types of soup? That’s your idea of dinner for these garbage disposals you call children?”

“Suri won’t touch egg drop soup because of the egg. The wonton soup will be vegan for him. We - and by ‘we’ I mean you - will make some extra wontons so Goten and Gohan don’t feel left out. Then I’ll make some steaks for the meateaters.” He breathed a sigh of relief; he did not like the thought of handling an animal’s corpse. It had never used to bother him, and he blamed it on his offspring. Sentimental little bastard, that one. 

“Alright, well,” Piccolo stood there with the ingredients spread out in front of him on the counter. “What do I do...with all of this…?”

“What do you think goes into the wantons?” 

Piccolo pursed his lips, brow crinkling. He looked at the ingredients and began to separate them into two piles, one for the soup, and one for the wontons. Chichi hovered, watching but not offering any assistance until the end. “Look carefully and then tell me if that’s your final answer.”

He really was sweating now. 

Wontons… Mushrooms, half the garlic, soy sauce, scallions, and a bottle of liquid smoke. He had no idea what liquid smoke was, but Chichi had called it out, and it seemed like it made more sense to go with the mushrooms in the wontons rather than in the broth. In the broth’s group, he had cabbage, vegetable broth, the remaining garlic, rice vinegar, and scallions. It was the ginger and the sesame oil of which he was unsure. 

“I don’t know about these two,” he admitted, indicating the two in the middle. Chichi patted his arm.

“They go in both.”

“Tricky.” Chichi snorted and shook her head, before offering some instructions - more like hints, Piccolo thought snidely as he chopped the mushrooms into tiny pieces, other ingredients followings. The wonton wrappers were sticking to his fingers, and several ripped before her managed to get a hang of it. Still, they were ugly and lumpy. He frowned at them, disappointed in the appearance. 

“If it makes you feel better, and it should,” Chichi said as she finished her final, perfectly beautiful wonton mountain, “it took me years to get this good.” She nudged him with her hip, and he looked down at her, meeting her shining eyes. “My little master chef in training…”


	13. Please Don't Say that Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Chiccolo Week's Moving On Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: miscarriage

Piccolo had refused to leave the master bedroom for the past three days. It was, Chichi thought with a sigh, dragging her hand over her face, an improvement over the bathroom. She had been unable to get him to talk about the incident. No one had, not even Gohan, who had been present. Gohan, who had carried him to Dende, and brought him home. Gohan, who had been too shaken up to tell her what had happened for over an hour. Piccolo had yet to speak a word to her about it. The only words she had heard from him at all was a plea to be left alone. 

Chichi had been sleeping with Suri, who was incredibly upset about the whole thing, and he didn’t even fully understand what was happening. To be fair, she didn’t either. 

She knocked on the door to the bedroom, and there was no answer. 

“Mom,” Chichi turned around, seeing Gohan standing in the doorway to his old room, now shared by Goten and Suri. He shook his head slowly. Chichi’s shoulders rose up around her ears, and she gestured impatiently at the closed door. He closed his eyes, “please, Mom. Let him...let him be.”

“It’s been almost a week,” she hissed, tears beading in her eyes. 

“I know,” he replied, and she saw the water trickle down his cheek. He reached out a hand, and pulled her away from the door. 

“It’s just…” Chichi hung her head and sank against her eldest son. “I want to help him. And, he doesn’t want to let me in. How can I help him?” Gohan did not have an answer. 

 

By the time she had tucked Goten and Suri in and set Gohan up on the couch, Piccolo had opened the door to their room. 

“Hey, Piccaboo?” she crept in, keeping the lights dimmed. “How are you feeling?” He merely grunted in response, laying on his side with his back to her. She tiptoed over, setting a glass of water on the table beside him. “You haven’t had anything all day.”  

“I’m fine.” He refused to meet her eyes. His own were bloodshot, tinged blue. 

She pursed her lips, straightening and her hands automatically settled on her hips. 

“You’re full of shit, Piccolo.” Her voice came out harsher than perhaps she had intended, but it drew his attention in the form of an ear flick and tensing shoulders. “If you were ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have holed yourself up in our room for the past five days. If you were ‘fine,’ then you would be out training. Hell, I’d still be concerned if you were training. Meditating? Maybe I’d let you be, at least then I’d know you were working through -” She choked, and clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. “You’re full of shit.”

“What do you want me to say?” his voice was hoarse; from misuse or emotion she did not know. “To do?”

“You think I know?” Chichi whispered, tears streaming down her face. She stared down at him, taking in his haggard appearance. “Piccolo, I don’t have a damn clue what I want out of this, but,” she gingerly eased down on the bed, avoiding touching him. “The only thing I want out of this is you feeling better.”

“I don’t know...when that’s going to happen. I…” she looked over as she felt him sit up, watching him slide a hand over his face, taking in his sunken eyes. She thought he looked much older than he actually was. “I didn’t even know, Chichi. I didn’t realize…” 

She waited for a long time after he trailed off before she placed a hand on his knee.

“We weren’t...we weren’t planning one, Piccolo.”

“I didn’t get sick. Everything… Everything happened as it usually does. I don’t understand how this happened.” Chichi crawled up beside him, kneeling next to her husband and placing her hand on one of the massive shoulders. “I didn’t know. If I had known…” His head dropped between his arms, hands clawing at his head. “I would have never gone sparring if I’d known!”

His claws were starting to draw blood, and Chichi wrestled with his wrists, pulling his hands away. 

“I know, Baby I -”

“Please,” he whispered, “please don’t say that word.”

He looked at her, and she saw the tears streaming down his face. She bit her lip, and held out her arms, pleading. Piccolo shivered, his fangs bared in an agonized grimace, before he pressed his face into her neck, body following. He clung to her, and she ignored the sting of his claws as his hands curled into fists in her shirt. She pressed her lips to his skull, kissing him and murmuring soothing words, rubbing his neck. “Please don’t say that word.”


	14. A Married Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Chiccolo Week's Romance Day

 

Neither one could explain how they became so close in proximity, nearly touching. She had been crying, kneeling in the garden and trying to remain quiet so as to not disturb Gohan. It had been so hard to keep up a strong face without Goku since everyone had come back from Namek. Everyone but Goku…

She had jumped when Piccolo had knelt in front of her, hand on her shoulder, asking if she was hurt, but then neither had moved. His face was almost close enough for their noses to touch. Time seemed to slow to a standstill.

He had been so...so helpful… Stacking firewood, holding Gohan at night when the tears came… A bunch of little things… Chichi raised her hand to wipe away the tears falling from her eyes, only to find Piccolo's large hand cupping her chin. Their faces were far too close…

Memories of Goku flashed through her mind's eye; his goofy grin, his infectious laughter… The pain of knowing he did not want to come home… But...he was her… husband…

Her eyes dropped to Piccolo's lips, before she looked up to his eyes through her still-damp lashes. What she saw in his gaze made her stomach do flip flops. She did not think anyone had ever looked at her in such a manner… He reminded her of a tiger.

His thumb touched her lip, and she leaned closer, a voice in the back of her head whispering to pull away, to run into the house and lock the door, remind herself that she was a married women.

She was a...married...woman…

A married woman… A married wo -

She leaned closer still, and he met her there, their lips touching. Tentatively at first, she pressed their faces together, her lips caressing his lower… At first, he did little to reciprocate, but then she felt his other hand press against her cheek, pull her closer, slip around to the back of her head…

The kiss became more and more desperate, her hands closing on the cowl of his cape. Tongue… His tongue was oddly cold, and wet, wetter than she thought it should be, but with just how good everything felt, she pushed the thought aside. Pressing back with her own tongue, feeling his fangs…exploring his mouth -

Piccolo suddenly pulled back, and Chichi had to catch herself from falling forward, a small noise of protest falling from her lips.

"We…" Piccolo panted, a maroon blush dusting his features. His ears were unusually low, the tips the same color as his cheeks. "We should not…" but he was already closing the gap between them again, his brows puckered up in confusion and hesitation. Chichi's stomach flipped itself over, tying itself in knots.

"No," she agreed, breathless, reaching out to touch his cheek. "We… Piccolo, I'm married. I…"

But something had felt so right…


	15. "You've Got a Cute Butt"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Tumblr

“You most certainly will  _ not _ be going out in public dressed like that!” Piccolo raised his lip in disdain, glaring down at the miniscule human woman.

“Then do not insist that I go out and partake in this utterly ridiculous -  _ useless _ \- exercise!” If it were not for the fact that Chichi was Gohan’s mother, he may have swatted her to the side as easily as if she were a fly, left and flown away. But this  _ was _ Gohan’s mother. And he couldn’t just push past her and flee the scene. 

“Don’t you care about being a positive role model for Gohan? At all?” Chichi kept one hand on her hip, the other - the left - flew around her head, threatening to smack her just as much as him. Piccolo’s lip curled, crinkling his face. “Well?”

“I suppose,” Piccolo admitted, voice a reluctant grumble. How the hell could he say “no” to such a question! And she knew it. She knew he could not possibly say that no, he did not care about being a role model for her son. A triumphant smirk tugged on her mouth.

“As I thought!” she positively crowed. Piccolo wanted snarl at her - but then that wouldn’t be setting a very good example for Gohan. The namekian crossed his arms in a huff. 

“What do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to put on some real clothes - ah ah ah, no, you most certainly are not allowed to zap-zap your own!” the tiny woman snapped, shaking her head, “no no no, you’ll end up making something positively horrid!” she tut-tutted, taking him by the hand and pulling him along behind her. “That just will not do! My Goku must have something that will suit you just fine. I’m sure of it.”

Piccolo balked, trying to wrestle his arm away from her, but she was surprisingly strong. How in the seven hells had she become so strong? He was sure that he had never seen her train.

“I refuse to put on anything of Son’s!” he jerked his arm back, only to find that Chichi was more than a match for him unless he were to power up. And that would be dangerous. 

“You will wear what I give you, Young Man!” 

 

Despite never seeing Son Goku in anything aside from his garish orange and navy gi, Piccolo soon found himself trying on a ridiculous amount of clothes - each color combination more hideous than the last. 

“What about this?” Chichi stood on the edge of her bed, holding a large purple long sleeve shirt up to the broad expanse of his chest. “I think this will do nicely, and it’s your favorite color! Oh! And then,” she chucked the agreeable purple shirt at his head, leaping down and bounding over scattered piles of discarded clothes, running over to a dresser and flinging open a drawer, rifling through the possible shirts. “You can put this on top!” She held up a wretched yellow shirt with purple lettering. He could hardly read worth a damn, it did not come easily to him. Reading was difficult, not like fighting. He squinted at the letters, ears flicking. 

P...O...S...T - that spelled “post,” and then there was...B...O...Y… B-O-Y spelled “boy.” Post...boy? Postboy. 

“The hell is a ‘postboy?’” 

“A boy who carries the post! Like the mail.” Chichi shook her head, clucking her tongue, presumably at his lack of education. “Now to find you some decent pants. The pants will be the hard part. You’re much taller ‘n my Goku.”

“But my pants match!” Piccolo barely kept the whine out of his voice, watching in dismay as Chichi dove back into the closet. 

\----

“Hurry up!” Piccolo snarled as he struggled into the too-tight blue-jeans Chichi had offered him. Her knuckles rapped on the bathroom door, the sound echoing the bathroom. “I’m waiting, Greenbean!” 

“I’m working on it!” Piccolo snapped. The button refused to slip into the loop. The zipper was too tight. His thighs felt like they were going to bust through the flimsy fabric, split the seams. Grunting, he managed to invert his abdomen, and the button held, the zipper following its example. 

“Well?”

Piccolo opened the door, feeling utterly ridiculous in the odd get up. Was this really considered fashionable to humans? It seemed impossible, but then again humans were strange beasts indeed! Chichi took a step back, looking him up and down. 

Up...and down. 

And up.

And down again. 

She held out her hand, index finger pointing down at the floor, thumb held only lazily to the side. She twirled her hand in a circle, and Piccolo was not sure about the look on her face. It was odd. It was...almost predatory. 

“What is it you are wanting me to do?” Piccolo pinned his ears against his head, shifting the uncomfortable baseball cap as he did so. 

“Spin, do a little turn, Green Bean.”

Grimacing, Piccolo pivoted on his heel, turning around slowly to allow her to asses her choice in clothing for him. 

When he had completed his turn, the expression on her face had changed dramatically, and her coloring was odd. Too pink. He cocked his head to the side.

“What?” Perhaps he did look as ridiculous as he felt. 

“N-nothing, it’s just…” Chichi tilted her head, small hand raising to cover her lips, “it’s just you… You’ve got a really cute butt.”

Piccolo squawked, his eyes going wide, ears pinned flat to his skull. 

“Wh-what?!”

But Chichi had clapped both hands over her reddening face, and fled the scene. 


	16. "Hold My Hand So He Gets Jealous"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumbly

After crying for over a week, she had decided to be done. At least in public. She put on a dress, did her makeup, insuring that her eyeliner was drawn on in perfect, immaculate little wings, and that her mascara had no clumps. For several minutes, she deliberated on what color she should paint her lips, and then settled on a coral color that matched her dress. She had lunch plans with her rather roguish lab partner to complete a presentation for their term project, and she really ought to look her best for it. Even if he showed up in sweats and ratty old skater kicks, he would be sure to comment if she were not her usual prim and proper self. Besides, if her ex were to see her, she wanted him to think that she was okay, that she was over it, Them. Over him. Even if that were a complete lie, she hoped her acting would be convincing enough.

She startled as her phone bleated out the slightly garbled words to some rock song she did not know, the only association she had with it was her lab partner. He had set it as his ringtone. 

“I’m on my way,” she lied, not bothering with a greeting. He never did. 

“You’re a damn liar is what you are, Gyumao. I can hear you on the other side of the door.” 

She could hear him too, and marched over to the door of her apartment, flinging it open. Piccolo leaned against doorframe, his phone lazily held to his ear as he looked down his narrow, slightly crooked nose at her. “If you weren’t so damn busy dollin’ yerself up like this we could’ve finished the presentation by now.” She glared up at him, trying not to crinkle her face too much. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of her eyeliner smudging. “Not like you, Chichi.”

Chichi said nothing, and Piccolo waited, one brow raised. She wanted to tell him that his violet track pants and white sleeveless-shirt made him look like Bruce Banner halfway to a Hulk transformation, what with his green skin and pronounced scowl. But she did not have the energy to deliver the qipp with the right amount of bite. And she feared it would come across as too callous. 

“We agreed to meet at Gumgum Diner, a full half hour from now. Why are you here?” Chichi huffed, crossing her arms under her bosom. She glowered up at him, half tempted to tap her foot on the ground like an impatient trigonometry teacher. 

Piccolo faltered under her gaze, and she wondered just how mean and ugly she must look in that moment. He frowned, losing the cocky expression he wore so easily. 

“I just figured I’d offer you a ride,” he straightened up, away from the doorframe, voice gruff. “But I’ll just meet you there.” He started to turn, but Chichi caught his arm. She had not expected something so...so sweet from him. 

“Why don't you come in for a minute?” Piccolo gave her a rather dirty look, apparently unimpressed by her abode, but he followed her in. “Tea?” 

“We really ought ‘a just go to the diner,” he grumbled, and she turned in time to see him shake his head, declining her offer of refreshment. 

“Why did you come here?” she asked again, and Piccolo  scrunched his face up in a childish manner. “I am touched, but it seems uncharacteristic of you.” Her lab partner refused to drop that bratty expression. Chichi shrugged, “fine,” and turned away. She began gathering up her computer, notes, textbooks, and other supplies she thought they might need, organizing them in a tote bag. 

“I heard your boyfriend dumped you and figured you might be upset about it.” Chichi froze, her back was to him now, and her hand trembled, finding the weight of her red notebook too heavy to bear. “We were all hanging out after practice, and he said that he wasn't gonna be your boyfriend anymore, and he was sad about it but also thinks it's better that he can join another club with his free time.” She felt tears well up in her eyes, burning them, closing her throat. No. No no no, she was not going to cry! She wasn't! 

“Is...is that so?” She was proud of how stable her voice sounded. 

She felt, more than heard, Piccolo shift uncomfortably in her too-small - especially for him - apartment. He grunted in reply, and Chichi closed her eyes, resting the red notebook on the countertop for a moment before she felt strong enough to slide it into her bag.

“I just…” Piccolo’s voice held an odd note that she did not think suited him. “I wanted to offer you a ride to the diner.” She turned, the overloaded totebag swinging in her hand. She could feel her eyes prickling, but she did not allow for the tears to fall. 

“I accept your offer,” Chichi rocked forward on her toes, handing Piccolo the bag. The baffled expression on his face was endearing, what with his ears twitching and his eyes wide and staring, lips just barely pursed to the left. “Although I do wish you had been more upfront with me to start!” 

Piccolo shrugged, slinging the bag over his shoulder, ignoring Chichi’s little squeak of dismay at the rough handling of her belongings. 

“Ain’t me, Princess.” 

“No,” standing behind him, she was safe to dab at her eyes with a tissue found in her purse. “I suppose not.” He was not outwardly sweet, he had a poorly contrived Bad Boy complex that he could not shake - or rather, would not drop. She could see through it, had noticed it in the little kind gestures he offered to children and elderly people; helping them to cross the street, fetching cats and balloons out of trees. Once she had even seen him give away his umbrella to a little old woman whose own had turned inside out, and had helped her on the bus. Piccolo was soft, but hid it. Sometimes, she wished she knew why...and now was one of those times. Instead of asking, she followed him out to his car, and climbed into the passenger seat. 

 

The diner was popular among students; it was rarely empty, and today was no exception. It was, however, the perfect place for the two of them to put the finishing touches on their presentation. He had ordered a smoothie with several fruits she had not known existed in it, and she had decided to follow suit and copy him. She learned that some of them had been brought to Earth from the namekian home planet, and had to be grown under special conditions. 

Chichi was just about to sit down, a basket of fresh hot chips for them to split held in her hands, when the door to the diner popped open. Raucous, boistrous laughter filled her ears, raising the volume of the already-busy diner. 

Goku. 

Chichi dropped into their booth, nearly spilling their chips. Her hair fell around her face in a cloak, hiding her face from view. 

“Hey,” she glanced up, meeting Piccolo’s dark gaze across the table. Her heart was racing. She wasn’t ready. She was going to cry. He was here with all of his friends, with beautiful Bulma, and she...she was going to cry. “Hold my hand so sit down, a basket of fresh hot chips for them to split held in her hands, when the door to the diner popped open. Raucous, boisterous laughter filled her ears, raising the volume of the already-busy diner. 

Goku. 

Chichi dropped into their booth, nearly spilling their chips. Her hair fell around her face in a cloak, hiding her from view. 

“Hey,” she forced herself to look up, meeting Piccolo’s dark gaze from across the table. Her heart was racing. She wasn't ready. She was going to cry. He was here with all of his friends, with beautiful Bulma, and she...she was going to cry. Piccolo’s large, four-fingered hand slid across the table, “hold my hand so he gets jealous.” 

She blinked, hard, then twice more in quick succession. What?

“Hold...your hand?” But his fingers had already wrapped around hers, pulling her arm over the table. She was too busy staring into his dark eyes - she had never noticed what an interesting color they were until just now, almost maroon where the light hit them - to notice as the group that included her ex-boyfriend walked past their table. She was dimly registered an awkward hesitation in their laughter and conversation. Because...she was holding Piccolo’s hand? Really, he was holding her hand; she was too busy trying to sort out just what was happening to reciprocate. 

“Heya, Cheech?” Chichi blinked, the reverie broken by the voice at her side. Her head jerked around to face the speaker, seeing Goku standing there with a decidedly un-Goku expression on his face. Piccolo’s thumb ran over her knuckles, and Chichi did not know what to say or do besides stutter out a rather feeble greeting. “I'm uh, sure glad to see you're happy. I was uh, worried you'd mope but I guess that ain’t the case, huh?” Chichi’s throat was too tight to really answer, so she shook her head. She wasn't even really sure what she meant with it. How could she? But before she could gather her thoughts, Goku had nodded at Piccolo, and turned away with a “take care.” She watched his retreating figure, too stupefied to form words. And Piccolo’s fingers were still laced into her own. 

“What… What just…?” Chichi left her hand where it was, curled up with Piccolo’s. He made no move to break it off. He shrugged his broad shoulders and picked up a chip, dipping it in vinegar. “You're still holding my hand,” she stammered, and Piccolo nodded, his thumb still gently bumping over the grooves of her knuckles. “Why?”

He popped the chip into his mouth, chewing for a moment as if it were going to impart some great wisdom into him. 

“Dunno,” Piccolo replied after taking a sip from his water. “After all, I know plenty o’ better ways to make a person jealous.” 

Chichi thought his eyes lingered on her lips, and she flushed, realizing she was looking at his, too. 


	17. Suri and Crickets

Goten always listened to music at night. He said it kept his brain busy while he slept and helped keep him from thinking too much all night. His music kept Suri up. It was okay, Suri liked to listen to the music, but it made him tired in the morning. Goten didn’t like to wear headphones because they hurt his ears, and their mother was afraid that he would strangle himself in the middle of the night on accident. 

It was late - or was it early? - and Suri could not sleep. He wanted to dance and sing along to the song that was bleating out of Goten’s radio, the women’s voice was singing in a different language that Suri did not know but wanted to learn, but he had the distinct impression that it was a fishing song. The little namekian shimmied out from under his covers, wiggling his toes inside his footie pajamas before hopping down to the floor. He supposed that if he could not sleep, he might as well go outside. 

Suri tiptoed to the window with the intent of climbing up on the reading seat his papa and his brother Gohan had built before he was born. His legs were not long enough to get him to the top, and he nearly fell, slipping and digging his claws into the cushion. With a grunt, the sprout managed to hoist himself up on the window seat. Suri took a moment to collect his breath before kneeling in front of the window and wrestling it up and open. The window stuck for a moment, then popped up with a creak and a thump. Suri flinched at the noise, crooked ears standing at attention. Goten snuffled and rolled over, but made no move to rise. Good. A moment more of straining for sounds of movement, Suri slipped out the open window and dropped the short distance down to the grass. He was not supposed to be out of bed, let alone out of his house. Being but a small child, he did not think much about how he was going to get back in his window; that was a problem for future Suri. Present Suri was more than happy to sit on the grass next to the house and try to enjoy the sounds of the outdoors, but Goten’s music carried through the window! Suri pursed his lips, chubby cheeks squishing his eyes as he debated what to do. He sighed, leaning against the house. 

An odd little chirping caught his attention, one ear twitching, antennae following the sound. It was like… Like… Suri did not know what it was like. He crawled toward the sound, pausing as he lost it, waiting for it to come again. His sharp ears flicked, hearing it from behind him - although he thought perhaps it was a different source. This song sounded faintly different. The original noise returned. He smiled, reaching forward and crawling along, when another chirping sound, then another and another, joined the chorus. 

Very suddenly, Suri remembered the stories Trunks had told him and Goten about spirits in the woods luring children away from their houses to eat them. At the time, he has thought that Trunks was fibbing. But now… 

The song disappeared, vanishing as a shadow fell over him. Suri shrieked - he did not want to be eaten by spirits! - and tried to flee, but two hands scooped him up. 

“And what, Child of Mine, are you doing out and about at such an hour?” Suri sobbed, settling against his father’s chest and clinging to the familiar clothes. He wasn't going to get eaten or taken away by woodland spirits. He buried his face in the soft cloth his father’s shirt. Nothing, nothing could hurt him if Papa was there. Papa was the strongest and fiercest namekian to ever live. 

“I c-can’t s-sleep,” Suri sniffled, wiping snot and tears all over his papa’s shirt, looking up into the soft dark eyes set in an angular face. “My head’s busy cuz of Goten’s music, and you go outside t’sit sometimes, so, so, so I went outside to sit…” the chirping began anew, and Suri sucked in a little gasp, “Papa, those chirpin’ spirits tried to l-lure me away.” His papa stared down at him a moment, before his papa began to laugh. Suri’s lips formed a little “o” and his brow crinkled, the baby skin forming tiny mountain ranges. 

“Suri, those are crickets.”

Crickets? 

“Whassa crickets?”

“Crickets,” Papa began, folding his legs up under him and sitting down in the air, “are bugs who play their legs like violins.”

“How c’n a bug play a vi’lin?” Suri was skeptical, but he had never known his papa to fib. 

“Look,” he followed his papa’s pointing finger, and he found the musical bug, sitting on one of the rocks outside the house. The bug was rubbing its back legs together, and the whimsical chirping was heard. It  _ was _ like a violin! 

Suri clapped a hand over his mouth, staring wide eyed at the tiny creature. 

“Papa,” he whispered, “can I keep it?” 

“My little animal lover,” his papa murmured, and Suri smiled as he recieved a kiss on the the top of his head, “no, crickets should stay outside, besides, I thought you wanted a cat?” Suri giggled, settling against his father’s chest, “and you, are going to bed.”

“But I cantta sleep with Goten’s music.”

But it was not his own window they were floating towards, it was the window leading to his parents’ room. And it was not his own bed he was settled down into, but his parents’, and he fell asleep with two pairs of arms wrapped around him, and the sound of crickets fiddling out on the window sill. 


	18. Suri and the Party Store

“Popsicle, this is the best day I’ve ever had ever.” Suri gaped, staring around the store. His father looked incredibly uncomfortable - it was probably because of all the glitter. “And I can pick out  _ all _ the decorations?” 

“...Yes…” The twelve year old namekian squealed with delight, shooting forward, ignoring his father’s groan of despair. 

Suri was headed straight for the most glitter-filled, sparkly, flamboyant decorations in the whole store. “Remember we have a budget!” Piccolo tried to rein in his child, but failed dismally; Suri tore through the party store, somehow acquiring a pink feather boa and flamingo sunglasses in the process. 

“We simply must have these plates,” Suri gave his father an emphatic look, holding up plates that looked like animal faces. “They're all the rage at school and Marron says her mom thinks it’s best to be fashion forward.” 

“You're only having a few kids over, Suri,” Piccolo placed two of the six packages of zoo-plates back on the shelf, but Suri barely noticed, clapping his hands and running to the napkins, finding some with bowties on them. “Is there a theme?” 

“Yes,” Suri spun on his heel, “and the theme is  _ me _ !” He threw the back of his hand against his head, dramatically dropping his shoulder and making the feather boa float in the air for a moment before settling once again around his neck. He saw his father’s lip twitch in a smile. Good. “Papa, do you think the boa goes with the rest of my outfit?” 

His father shrugged.

“As long as you're happy, you may wear whatever you want.” Suri’s grin split his chubby face, and he knew Piccolo was going to have to eat those words.


	19. Speaking Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piccolo is worried that Suri isn't speaking yet

“Say, ‘Papa,’ paahhh pahh. You do it.”

“Say, ‘Goten,’” the mischievous little half-saiyan clambered up Piccolo’s shoulders, leaning on his adoptive parent’s head. Suri, held in Piccolo’s lap, smiled silently up at his brother. Piccolo’s ears twitched, and he looked up at the boy, forehead wrinkling. 

“Goten, you have homework to do.” He saw Chichi poke her head around the doorframe out of the corner of his eye, “and if you're in here playing with Papa and Suri, you're not doin’ it!” 

Goten groaned and fell backwards off of Piccolo, flopping on his parents’ bed. 

“Can't I do it later?” 

“Not if you're goin’ to play with Trunks later,” his mother chimed; and the child gasped, bolting off the bed and charging for his room. Chichi laughed and came in, carrying a basket of clean laundry on her hip. “How’s the speakin’ lesson goin’?” 

Piccolo’s ears flicked, and he frowned. 

“It’s not exactly ‘going’ anywhere.”

“He’s just a baby, Piccaboo. It's not so bad if he’s not a chatterbox quite yet.” She sat down, the bed barely shifting under her. Chichi took Suri from his lap, and Piccolo had to stop himself from snatching him back as a wave of protectiveness swept over him. 

“He is nearly a year old, and is barely babbling. He rarely cries, and his fussing is quiet, and,” Piccolo stopped, pursing his lips and looking away, staring at a forgotten sock tucked away in a corner. 

“Hey,” Chichi placed her hand on his thigh, and Piccolo’s fingers twitched. “Suri is a namekian. Not a human or a saiyan.”

“Your point?”

“My point,” Chichi drawled, and he turned his head, seeing her cradle the tiny namekian to her chest, kissing the baby's forehead. “Is that all your baby experience has been with saiyan--human hybrids. Maybe namekian egg-babies are quieter. Think about your ears.” He had considered it, but something, something in his gut had him feeling incredibly uneasy.

“My  instincts tell me he should not be this quiet.” He brushed a knuckle gently over his son’s cheek. Suri grabbed his hand in both of his and began furiously gumming Piccolo’s thumb. His face softened, and he smiled, feeling warmth and contentment wash over and push aside the worry, free fingers caressing the little sprout’s chubby cheeks. “He is perfect.” The words slipped out, before he could catch them. 

“Yes, he is. So are Goten and Gohan. And any more children that come along.” He looked up, surprised by the sharp note in Chichi’s voice. She must have seen the question in his eyes, “it doesn’t matter, no matter what they do wrong, what others might think, they’re perfect.” 

“Chichi?” 

She sighed, curled over Suri once more, kissing him again. When she straightened, her eyes were closed, face strained. She shook her head. “Are you worried?”

“No,” and he believed her. “I am not worried about Suri. He’s a perfect little angel, aren’t you, Suri?” The baby smiled and allowed Piccolo’s slobbered-soaked thumb to slide out of his mouth. His two little top fangs were the only teeth he had as of yet. 

“I wonder if he’s not talking because he hasn’t any teeth,” Piccolo mused as he wiped his son’s drool on his pants. “Open your mouth, say ‘Ahhh,’ Suri.” Suri stuck out his tonge and closed his eyes. 

Chichi snorted, trying to hold back a laugh, and Piccolo rolled his eyes at her, nose scrunching. 

“Baby, look, he’s mimickin’ you.” Sure enough, Suri had screwed up his face similar to his father’s. Piccolo’s lips twitched, and he took the baby back from Chichi. “You gonna take him to Dende, just to make yourself feel a bit better?”

“Probably,” Piccolo touched his nose to his son’s and Suri promptly clapped his hands on either one of his father’s cheeks. It actually hurt, and Piccolo’s eyes watered. “Ow,” he raised his eyebrows, and immediately felt an odd, ghost of emotion, it felt like regret. Suri’s uncoordinated fingers curled against his cheeks. Piccolo kissed his forehad and tucked the baby to his chest. “Are you going to come?”

“No,” Chichi sighed, “honestly, I’m prob’ly gonna take a nap. Bulma is coming to pick up Goten in 45 minutes - well, Vegeta probably is, which means he’s gonna stand outside and yell since he thinks Goten’s old enough to take himself to the big city. If you wait till after then - an’ y’should, just to be a good dad to all your kids and not spoil the youngest. I don’t want Goten gettin’ that middle child thing where they grow into delinquents.” 

Piccolo actually had to swallow a laugh; Goten, a delinquent.

“That won’t happen. Goten is too good a kid to get into any sort of trouble. Unless Trunks leads him into it.”

Chichi dropped her chin, looking up at him with wrinkles on her forehead and her hair a mess. 

“Exactly.” 

“Well, Trunks is a good kid. For a saiyan.” Piccolo’s smirk was a tad reminiscent of his younger, wilder days, and Chichi gave him a look that clearly said ‘if the baby wasn’t in your hands I would punch you.’ She slid off the bed, heading for the door. 

“I’m going to check on Goten’s homework.” 

Piccolo sighed, and looked down at his son. 

“You know, something tells me you’re going make me worry about you every day for the rest of my life, Child of Mine.” 

 

After Goten had left with Vegeta and Trunks, Piccolo bundled Suri into the obnoxious but convenient baby carrier that held the child to his chest. It made flying with a squirmy child far less of a hassle. Chichi kissed them both and told him that first children were always the hardest, and he had tried to argue that Suri was his third child, but Chichi had shook her head and sent them on their way. 

“You made this one. You love our first two more than you can possibly understand, but you made this one, and that means you’re going to do all the first-time-parent things. Besides, Gohan was four and half when you met him, and you weren’t officially Goten’s Papa until he was older than Suri is now - don’t give me that look, I know you’ve considered both of them yours for longer than I probably know.” 

She was right though, Suri was different. Part of his concern, he knew, was simply that Suri was a namekian, and, as Chichi had said, no one, not even him, knew much about namekian children. Shenron knew what a terrible example he had been. His own childhood memories were useless in raising his own son. 

Something tugged all of the memories down, pushing them aside and instead filling his inner eye with Suri’s first steps, his first time biting Gohan, that time Goten had stuffed him in a pumpkin...and all felt off. Odd. Piccolo looked down at his son, safe and secure and strapped into the carrier. The baby beamed at him, gap-toothed grin absolutely precious in all its goofiness. Piccolo touched down on the Lookout. 

“And what, pray tell, brings you here, Piccolo?” Dende, all arms and legs and stuck in teenage awkwardness, stood in front of them. “I hope nothing is the matter with the Little One?” Piccolo struggled to get Suri out of the carrier, the baby was far too exhuberant to see the Guardian. 

“I…” Piccolo hesitated, “I honestly don’t know if anything is wrong. How old are namekain children when they begin to talk?” Dende took Suri from him, placing a gentle finger on the child’s forehead. Suri stilled, going cross eyed to follow Dende’s hand. Piccolo watched as the Guardian and Healer closed his eyes, his chest swelling as he inhaled. The very tip of his finger glowed, and Suri cooed. 

“Children speak when they are ready, Piccolo. Sometimes they do not speak in the traditional sense,” Dende opened his eyes, and allowed Suri to grab his finger. “But they all communicate. Tell me, before you grow any more anxious, do you ever think thoughts that are not yours? Feel things that do not match your mood?” Piccolo blinked, his lips parting in surprise. “Ah, I see by the look on your face my answer is a yes.” Dende cuddled the tiny child closer, “you, Piccolo, are a very loud thinker, and yet a creature of few words. Why should your child be any different?” He had not thought of that. 

“What do you mean, I am a loud thinker?” He pursed his lips; he always thought he had done a good job keeping his thoughts to himself. Well, aside from the two free-loaders in his brain. He thought about the odd feeling he had felt remembering Suri’s steps, the incident with the pumpkin, and then earlier, the tinge of regret when Suri had slapped him. That had been happening quite frequently; he would feel foreign emotions, think unfamiliar thoughts - more like concepts. “But Gohan and I can communicate telepathically. And I can hear Chichi calling for me in her mind. And Goten -” 

“But all of them are also communicating verbally as well.” Dende smiled and tried to disentangle Suri from his robe as the child attempted to put it in his mouth. “I don’t suppose you could feel Goten’s thoughts until he was a talker?” Piccolo furrowed his brow. He could not remember. “Your namekian child is going to be different. Aren’t you, Bansuri?” Suri tittered, and Piccolo felt the child’s heart swell, felt the happiness radiate from him. He frowned. He recalled feeling Suri reaching for him, early on, when Piccolo had been walling himself off from the world. But… Dende approached, allowing Suri to slide into Piccolo’s arms once more. “I have never met a happier little child, Piccolo.” Piccolo met Dende’s deep blue eyes. “Listen to him, and keep your mind open. Remember the council I gave you when he was but a hatchling. It still applies.” How was it that this teenager of just barely eighteen Earth years was so wise? “I am the Guardian, it is part of my job.” Piccolo stared at him. Dende winked and waved his hand. The carrier secured itself around Suri, and Piccolo found his feet levitating off the marble floor. 

Two months later, Suri started talking. And then he never stopped. 


	20. Suri's Nightmare

“Papa,” Piccolo scrunched his face. “Papa.”

“What, Goten?” It had to be somewhere around two or three in the morning. What could he possibly want? Something was yanking on his brain. Piccolo curled into a ball. 

“PAPA.” It clicked.

Not Goten. 

Piccolo sat bolt upright, and Chichi squeaked beside him, a light flicking on. 

Suri was standing, holding onto the edge of the bed, tears in his big amber eyes. Piccolo stared at the child, too shocked to know what to do until Suri started to cry in earnest, and he had pulled the child into his arms, still staring wide-eyed at Chichi. 

“Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about him talking anymore,” Chichi’s hair was standing at all angles, a matted poof of wavy not quite curls. “Hey baby, what’s the matter?” Piccolo was too shell-shocked to investigate. 

“Mommy,” Suri answered, peering out at her from Piccolo’s shoulder. Piccolo reflexively rubbed his back. 

“Did- did you have a bad dream?” He tentatively reached out, touching his mind to Suri’s, and felt his child’s relief wash over him, feeling the fear of a nightmare only half-remembered of indigo blood and green, spinning light. “Oh, Suri, that’s a bad one.” 

Chichi tilted her head, confusion creasing her face; Piccolo shook his head, he would explain later. “Papa’s had that one, too.” He closed his eyes, laying back with his child tucked under his chin. 


	21. Marriage Proposals? At Your Age?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suri announces who he wants to marry

“Papa, I wanta marry Gohan,” Suri chirruped from his brother’s arms. Gohan laughed, bouncing the two-year-old. “This summa.” 

“Well, you can’t marry your brother,” Piccolo stared at two of his sons, trying to determine the best way to explain why Suri and Gohan could not get married. Gohan was grinning, trying too hard to hold laughter inside to be of any assistance. Piccolo looked around for Videl, hoping she would jump in and say that she was going to marry Gohan. But then again Suri might just suggest that everyone married Gohan. Suri frowned, hugging Gohan’s neck. 

“Why not? I love Gohan.” 

Oh Shenron. The why’s. He hated the why’s. 

“Because…”  _ Think, Piccolo, think _ . “Because people get married to make families bigger,” he started, jumping on the thought. “You and Gohan are already family.” Suri pursed his lips, and Piccolo took a moment to glance at Gohan. The teen winked and gave him a subtle nod. “If you decide to get married, it has to be someone not already in your family, so your family gets bigger.”

“So,” Suri pressed his cheek to Gohan’s, “I hafta marry someone not inna family?” Piccolo nodded, and Gohan agreed. 

“That right! So Videl and I might get married, and then our family will be bigger. And then Videl’s family becomes our family too!” Suri’s chubby face puckered in thought, and he grabbed his chin. Piccolo’s lips twitched in a smile.

“So, I cannae marry Mommy, Papa, Goten, Gohan, or Grandpa.” 

“That’s right,” Gohan confirmed, “or Videl, because I’m going to marry Videl. But you can marry Marron. Or Trunks. Or -”

Piccolo felt as much as saw the lightbulb go off in Suri’s head. 

Uh-oh.

“I’ll marry  _ Dende _ !” he exclaimed, amber eyes shining. Piccolo’s eyes widened, and his ears caught the distinct sound of someone choking on water. Dende was here too, and he had obviously heard the child’s announcement. “Right? I ken marry Dende? Denny is no’ in ouw family yet and I love Dennay and he loves me too.” Suri craned his neck to look beyond his family, waving his arm wildly as he spotted the Guardian. “Denday!” Piccolo turned to see Dende wiping his face on his sleeve, an empty water glass beside him. “Can we get marwied?” Dende looked at Piccolo, but he only smiled and shrugged. 

“I doubt Chichi would complain about her child marrying a God.” 

“Piccolo,” the Guardian hissed, ears pinning, “you’re not leaving me alone to answer this!”

“Dende?” 

“Your fiance wants to talk to you.” 

If looks could kill - and Piccolo supposed that Dende probably had some ability to do so - then Piccolo would be a deadman. But the harsh expression melted away as soon as Dende met Suri’s gaze. 

“Well, Suri, I would be honored, but I am afraid that we shall have to wait until you are all done with school before we decide if we should get married.” 

“Why?” Suri reached out like a monkey from Gohan to Dende, who took him from Gohan. “How come we hafta wait t’get married?”

“Well,” Dende hesitated, “because people have to be all grown up to get married, and who knows? Maybe you  _ would _ like to marry Marron? Or a friend from school?” Suri scrunched his face once more. 

“No, I dun think that will happen. I’m gonna marry you, okay? But I’m gonna go play with Goten ‘n’ Trunks ‘n’ Marron now, okay? Bye bye!” Suri kissed Dende’s cheek and hopped down, running off towards his friends shouting, “Guess what? Denny an’ I are gonna get marwied!” 

Gohan took the moment to burst out laughing. 

“I’m not sure if I should be relieved or hurt he got over not being allowed to marry me so quickly,” he adjusted his glasses and fixed his hair. “I know Eighteen is not-so-secretly hoping he and Marron will fall for each other, she loves him, but,” Gohan clapped Dende on the back, and Piccolo noticed the Guardian blush ever so slightly, and his stomach twisted in sympathy for Dende. “He seems rather set on you, huh, Dende? We’ll see how long that lasts, hahaha.” 

“Yes, indeed,” Dende offered a shaky smile, and Piccolo’s brow furrowed. “Children...say the darndest things.” 

“They sure do! Speaking of which, I should probably go rescue Krillin, he’s swamped by all of ‘em!” As soon as Gohan was out of earshot, Piccolo placed a hand on Dende’s shoulder. 

“Are you alright? I do hope I did not say anything upsetting.” Dende startled, looking from Gohan’s retreating form to Piccolo. 

“Hmm? Oh, no… I am fine.” 

“I’m sorry, Dende.” The Guardian gave him a wan smile. 

“As I said, my friend, I am alright. I never said anything, so I am the only one to blame. And…” he fell silent, yet Piccolo’s ears twitched. 

“And?” he prompted after a moment. Dende laughed, and the sound was shaky, almost pained. 

“And I have long since accepted that the one I so long hoped for was not the One to whom my fate and soul is tied.” 

“Hmm,” Piccolo’s eyes found Suri playing tag with Marron and the two youngest saiyans. “And you believe that there is a One for you?”

“There is a One for all namekians. We are all predisposed to tying our fates in with a single being whose mind - whose very soul - resonates with our own.”

“If you do not meet yours on Earth?”

“Then perhaps I return to New Namek for a time.”

“Do you foresee such a thing?” 

For a long, long time, Dende did not answer. Piccolo watched him out of the corner of his eye, listening to the Guardian’s heart beating out a steady, slow beat under his ribs. 

“I cannot say. Foresight is not a gift of mine. Yet… I do not think so. But it is too soon to tell.”


	22. PROMO CHAPTER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alien Research Lab, written for Chiccolo Week's "SciFi/Fantasy Day"   
> Potential full fic.

Something big was going on. In her three years working at the lab, she had never seen so many guards, nor had so many people check her badge. For gods’ sakes, she had the highest level security clearance it was possible to have without being one of the suited agents who came to collect evidence for the government. Chichi shoved her badge in a security officer’s face before swiping it through the machine for access. The doors beeped twice before sliding open, and she stomped through, glowering around the room. More guards. 

“Dr. Gyumao, please, we have much to discuss regarding the new subject.” Lead scientist Uranai Baba, an ancient women, grabbed her by the hand and immediately began dragging her to the briefing room. “It’s all very exciting. A first for sure. A very exciting opportunity.”

“What is?” Chichi ran along behind the surprisingly spritely elderly women, bent nearly double. What had been brought in? Some new space debris? It couldn’t possibly be - 

“A live subject!” Dr. Baba grabbed her by the chin and shoved her face against the glass separating them from the exam area. Had she been able to, her jaw would have dropped open. There, on the table, strapped down and struggling, lay a wounded, but very much alive, green humanoid alien. “It crash landed in the Paozu Mountain Range this morning. Crews brought it in immediately for analysis. Fascinating, beautiful, isn’t it?”

Fascinating, yes, but beautiful? Chichi was unsure. It was difficult to judge the aesthetic of the creature as it gnashed fangs as long and thick as her thumb together, blue-violet spittle flying from its lips as it thrashed against the bonds holding it down. Bluish fluid that must have been blood spattered against the table as it smashed the back of its head into the cold metal of the exam table. Her brow furrowed, watching the alien injure itself further as it attempted to escape. Her stomach churned. What were they going to do with a living alien? Previous specimen had all been dead from the impact. Prior to this, the only live subject they had ever had access to had died within minutes of arriving to the lab, and it had been long before her time. She had seen the pictures of it, and it looked nothing like the beast before them. 

“I’d like a closer look.” She was already donning a protective suit, securing the purifying mask over her mouth and nose. Dr. Gyumao Chichi swiped her identification card through the scanner, and the doors slid open before her, allowing her access to the alien. 

He snarled at the approaching monster, yelling at it to back away. It hesitated, and he paused, narrowing his eyes. It was a mask. It was a mask covering the creature’s face. He could see through a small window in what must have been a suit, seeing wide, dark eyes framed by strange little whiskers. He bared his fangs, lip curling as he once again barked out a command to stay away from him. Each time he threatened his captors, the broken bones in his chest ached in agony, the open wounds burning. Behind its mask, the Earthling alien spoke a language he did not understand. It was soon joined by another, smaller, alien of the same species. The smaller one approached, a small cage-like mask held in its hands. His long ears pinned as it was forced over his face, covering his mouth. He thrashed, throwing his head as he struggled to free himself of the muzzle. He yelled again, demanding them to free him. 

“It certainly...is interesting,” Chichi met its gaze for a moment, feeling herself trapped in a ruby gaze. The alien spoke, but it was not a language of Earth, as was to be expected, she supposed. “Dr. Baba, what…” she hesitated, watching the alien straining against the bonds holding it down. It was different from the alien corpses that she was used to examining, in more ways than just that it was alive and breathing; it had smooth green skin with a slight sheen, as if it were secreting some sort of fluid, long pointed ears, and antennae protruding from its forehead, despite an overall humanoid appearance.  It even had the tattered remains of clothing clinging to green skin. Then there was the matter of it trying to communicate. “What is it that we are supposed to do with him?” The assumed pronoun slipped out; the lab had a strict policy against any sort of humanization of alien remains...but this one was not exactly...remains. 

Baba gave her a sharp look but said nothing. Chichi turned her gaze back to the alien, watching its face carefully. 

“The same as we always do, but only this time our subject is alive...” 

As much as she wanted to put her science goggles on, to be impartial, there was just...something that felt very wrong about this. Chichi took a blood sample from the alien’s arm, avoiding eye contact with him. To herself, she referred to him that way, but outloud she only called him “Subject 7P;” the seventh subject from the Paozu Mountain Range. 

“I’m sorry about this,” she whispered, drawing back on the syringe, blue-black blood oozing up into the syringe. “They’ve never brought in a...living being before. It’s only ever been...carcasses. Scraps. Y’know?” Her stony faced subject glared at her, raising a lip to reveal those terrifying fangs again. His ruby gaze was disconcerting, sending ice down her spine. She had the distinct impression that he knew what she was saying. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I almost dropped out of the sciences when they wanted me to experiment on animals in school, and here. I don’t like it, 7P. I really don’t. I really, really don’t.” 

7P gave her a decidedly dirty look, snorting and glancing towards the large windows leading into the main area of the lab. Baba was standing there with a group of people in suits. Chichi’s brow furrowed, but she returned to her work quickly, pretending there was no one watching her. 

He was beginning to understand the Earthling’s language, recognizing words and tones. She - he had figured that much out based on the conversations she had with the Others - at least felt guilt for holding him prisoner, poking and prodding him with needles. Seh-van-pee. That was what she called him. 

“Piccolo.” 

“What?” The Earthling stared at him for a moment, and when he opened his mouth to repeat it, his name, she hurried away, the door sliding shut behind her. Piccolo let his head fall back on the table and stared at the ceiling. 


	23. X Ball Z: Evolution!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for "Species Swap Day" of Chiccolo Week 2017
> 
> May eventually become part of something longer

“Uncle, our mutations work in direct opposition to each other.” Piccolo rested heavily on his right palm, drawing circles in on the table with his left index finger. “Chichi’s supersonic super scream thing she does just doesn’t work with my hearing.” He glanced at Chichi, who was looking rather grim faced, staring at her gloved hands. A shadow fell across him, and Piccolo’s eyes darted up to the source. “Sure, the superhuman strength she’s got is useful as can be, but…” 

“That, my boy, is why Bulma made you that helmet.” His uncle arched a brow, staring down at him. Piccolo’s frown deepened, and the teen intensified his imaginary doodling on the table. 

“I don’t want to wear it, it’s stupid. My codename is ‘The Demon,’ and with that ridiculous get up on no one can see why.” 

He could feel his uncle’s eyes on him. 

“I do wish you would consider changing it, child. You’re on our team now, not your father’s. Such a moniker is not fitting of the Z Fighters.” Piccolo swiped his hand under his nose, refusing to meet his uncle’s gaze. “Chichi, my dear, what do you think about the teaming on this assignment?”

“I don’t love it,” Chichi muttered, and Piccolo’s long ears flicked. He tried to determine her tone. “Piccolo’s right, our powers aren’t exactly great together. Not to mention, we’re both new to the team. It would be better to have either of us paired with a more experienced member.” A pause, then, “with all due respect, Kami, sir.”

“Well, we all need to be able to work together, don’t we?”

Neither teen had an answer to that. The old mutant smiled. 

 

“Why do you keep your Brotherhood name?” Piloting the mini-jet was her job, and her surly partner was sitting in the copilot seat, watching radar and other charts. She supposed that it was probably a little too personal of a question, considering that Piccolo didn’t really share anything with anyone. 

“I’m not creative enough to come up with a new one,” he grumbled, “Demon is easy. I like it. It matches my good looks.” He flashed a toothy grin at her, and she saw his fangs. She could certainly see where he had gotten the name, with his green skin, elfish ears, antennae… Chichi bit her lip and looked away. She still hadn’t found a codename that fit her. The others said that if your powers didn’t determine it, the first mission almost always did. 

“Why haven’t you come up with one yet?”

“What am I supposed to do, call myself Banshee? I’d rather not.” Chichi smiled at him, and he offered an awkward grin back. A little alarm sounded on the dash, signalling it was time to land and begin the reconnaissance mission… 

 

Piccolo shook his head under his helmet. At least Bulma had made it purple. He’d yet to test it against Chichi’s supersonic wave scream; he was not exactly looking forward to it either. It wasn’t just the hearing. She could break bones with that thing. Supposedly, the motorcycle-looking helmet was specially designed to filter the wavelength from Chichi’s scream, and wouldn’t impact his superior hearing. Piccolo didn’t buy it, feeling muffled and exceptionally hard-of-hearing whilst wearing it. 

“Hear anything?” Chichi asked, shuffling closer to him from their cover just outside the window Senator Satan’s office. He shushed her and tugged off the helmet, straining his ears.

“Why don’t you pull out those creepy goggles Bulma made to help with this sort of thing? You know, those x-ray ones.” 

“Oh, right,” Piccolo suppressed an eye roll as Chichi fumbled around in her pack, pulling out the spy-goggles. However, he couldn’t hold back a second one when he saw the brightly colored Z emblazoned across them. Seriously? Bulma had tried to put one on his new helmet but he’d threatened mutiny if she followed through. 

_ “You have to be a part of this team eventually!”  _

_ “I’d rather choke than wear something with the Old Man’s stupid team logo on it!” _

_ Bulma screamed and threw the purple helmet at him, allowing him to remove the large Z stencil she had placed on it.  _

Even Chichi’s training suit had a big Z on the chest. It was ridiculous. “You’re not a fan, of the Z, right?” 

“Not really my thing” Silence fell, and the two returned to listening and watching Senator Satan and his co-workers - or goons, Piccolo thought - go on and on about the Mutant Crisis. It was a warm day, and he was tired. There was nothing interesting to hear or see, and he felt himself drifting dangerously close to dozing off… At least when he was flying under his father’s colors, he’d never had to do something as boring as reconnaissance work. Of course… there were perfectly good reasons as to why he had left his father’s team.  _ Many _ perfectly good reasons. 

 

Chichi, too, was feeling the effects of the warm weather, but not as much as Piccolo. She frowned, watching as he nodded off and on. How unprofessional! Reaching out her foot, she nudged her green companion in the shin. He jumped, and glared her before adjusting his position. His eyes closed once more.

“Just let me meditate.”

“You’re not meditating, you’re napping. We have a job to do!”

“Shut up. All they’re doing is talking about their ridiculous registration act. Nothing new.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him, knowing he wouldn’t see it. Or at least, she thought he wouldn’t see it. He raised a lip in a silent snarl. She suddenly remembered that he was a telepath. And a telekinetic. It all made her feel woefully inadequate. Professor Kami seemed to believe that her powers were still developing, in their infancy, he’d said, gently touching her forehead. Chichi pursed her lips, staring through Piccolo rather than at him.  _ Unlike Piccolo, and several of the kids on the team, Chichi had no physical manifestation of her mutations. She had been normal until the one day when she had become so angry, so afraid, she had snapped and screamed until she ran out of breath...and had looked around to see shattered glass and destruction. Two days later, she had left home to live at the Lookout _ . 

 

“Hey! You kids!” Chichi was jolted out of her reverie, and didn’t look to see if Piccolo had woken up. What did M.R.D. stand for? Six heavily suited agents stood before them, holding up clear shields with the acronym emblazoned across them.

“Pi - I, I mean -”

She chanced a glance at him, and for the first time since she’d known him, she saw real fear in his eyes. His hands shot out, and her attention was grabbed by the sounds of bodies smacking together. “Pi - Demon!”  _ Codenames _ during missions. Codenames during  _ missions _ . “You can’t hur -” She yelped, sending out a wave of energy on accident as she narrowly avoided being shot by the agents. She covered her face as she hit the dirt, more beams flying overhead. She screamed again as rubble hit her in the face, peppering her arms and back. And then… it was silent. Chichi opened her eyes, and wished she hadn’t when she saw Piccolo’s face; it was contorted in an ugly, feral snarl, his helmet failing to cover his jaw and lips. She thought she had seen why he was called The Demon. Now she did. 

“Die,” he snarled, raising his hands, lifting the agents. Chichi’s eyes widened. 

“No! You can’t!” 

She saw his eyes flick to her face behind the eye shield before his icy eyes returned to the security agents with the strange shields. 

“They’re gonna kill us if we don’t do something. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not kick it today.” He moved to throw them, crush them, or something but Chichi scrambled to her feet and clutched at his shoulder pads. “Get off.”

“No! I’m not gonna let you kill them! - Oof!” Piccolo shoved her to the ground. “Demon!” He wasn’t listening, he was going to - Wait, she had superhuman strength. She could knock him out if she wanted to! And she was not about to let him kill a bunch of people. It went against everything Kami taught them. 

People were yelling, she was pretty sure a helicopter was on its way. This couldn’t be what the public saw about mutants. It couldn’t! Her fist connected with Piccolo’s jaw with an audible crack, making his helmet turn sideways as he stumbled. His would-be victims landed in a pile, dazed but alive as she hauled him up by the feet, her face twisted in a snarl. 

“We. Do not. Kill.” Piccolo stared up at her through the crooked helmet, an odd expression on his face. It abruptly shifted as he wrapped his arms around her, and she felt them both lift off the ground as backup security arrived on the scene. 

 

Piccolo offered to pilot on their way back to the Lookout. She let him, taking the copilot seat in silence, programming in their destination. Chichi glowered at the screen, still fuming that he had seriously been about to kill those people. How irresponsible! Didn’t he know that they represented the entire race of mutants? A single publicized act of violence could put their cause at risk! At least she’d given him a nasty bruise on the face to remind him of the message. 

Maybe he heard her thoughts. Or maybe he was just feeling guilty. 

“What you did back there. That was pretty gutsy.”

“Yeah.”

He stared straight ahead, blue bruise blooming on his green face. 

“Thanks, Tiger. Or Tigress, I guess.”

“Excuse me?”

Piccolo turned to meet her confused stare. 

“I think it fits, don’t you?” 

Chichi’s mouth fell open as she realized what he meant. Tigress… 

 

The next time they were paired up for a mission, her suit sported stripes. 


	24. Loving a Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for Chiccolo Week's "Angst/Hurt & Comfort Day"

Piccolo winced as Chichi dressed a nasty burn on his bicep, shoulder, and chest. She said nothing, refusing to look at him, let alone speak to him. His jaw tensed, teeth clenching as she soaked and picked scraps of his gi out of the wound. He wanted to say something, to apologize for coming home the way he had, bloody, burned, and in agony, barely able to stand. After a failed attempt to explain that Dende had been too exhausted, too drained from healing the others, all more injured than he, the stoic warrior had fallen silent, allowing her to tend to his hurts without so much as a word shared between them. 

Piccolo glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in the pinched face of his caregiver. Brows drawn, lips pursed in a thin line, Chichi stared intently at his wounds, doctoring each one with the precision of an emergency room nurse. 

“You heal quickly, but you’ve already got blisters popping on this. See that? White an’ leathery. You should have had Dende fix ya up. D’ya have any idea how bad this is?” It was the first she’d spoken since he had turned up on the doorstep. “Pic’lo, look at this! You’ve got second an’ third degree burns all over ya. This ain’t something that oughtta be treated at home. I’ve half a mind to drive you to the A&E. If you were Gohan or Goten or Goku I would! Namekian alien or not!” Her voice rose in both pitch and volume as she carried on, cracking as she reached her loved ones’ names. “Why, I ought -”   
Chichi broke down, throwing the medical supplies away from her across the table as she scurried away. “I can’t - you’ll haveta go back to Dende. I can’t. Not anymore.”

Piccolo’s mouth fell open as she fled to her room, lips parting with a quiet pop as tension he had not fully realized he was holding was released. He remained, planted on the stool for a moment more before gingerly rising, cradling the half-dressed wound as he followed her. 

“Chichi,” he began, but she cut him off by slamming the door. “Chichi!”

He didn’t have the energy to rip off his arm and regrow it, or else he would have done so already. If there had been a senzu bean, he would have eaten it. Had Goten, Trunks, and Tenshinhan not been so gravely wounded, he would have allowed Dende to heal him. Surely she understood that. But, he supposed, eye catching on a portrait of all of them, of Chichi, Gohan, Goten, and himself hung on the wall outside of her room, she wouldn’t see that. Not right away. She had seen Goten and the others come home dirty but apparently unscathed, tired but not visibly wounded. Except him. 

Piccolo had insisted that the exhausted Dende rest himself. If he needed it, he would return the following morning for healing. 

He had not thought of what that might do to his lover. “Chichi,” he tried again, good hand gently opening the door. She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes wide and glassy with tears, face puffy and blotched red. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Y’just helped save the planet and everyone on it, includin’ ungrateful me.”

“That’s not how I see it,” Piccolo offered, slowly ambling over to her and perching on the edge of the bed, protecting his injured arm. 

Chichi sniffled.  “I shouldn’t have come home like this, and expected you to take care of it.”

“It’s not that I mind,” Chichi interjected, turning to face him with fat tears pouring down her cheeks. “I like the doctorin’ and the fixin’, I really do, but, but,” she took a shuddering breath and pressed her forehead to his uninjured side. “But I don’t want to lose you. I don’t think I can.”

Piccolo felt his stomach clench. 

Of course. 

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sounds of Chichi’s sniffles. Then, he asked, almost afraid to hear her answer, but forcing his voice to remain calm. 

“Do you want me to stop fighting?”

Her eyes widened so much he feared for a moment they would pop out their sockets. 

“I would never ask you t’do that,” she whispered, new tears shimmering in her beautiful chocolate eyes. “Never, Piccaboo.”

“You’re not asking.” His voice held firm. 

“No,” Chichi shook her head, sniffling and wiping her face on her sleeve. “I’m not, but no, I don’t wantcha t’give up fightin’. It’s who you are. You’re a warrior. You’re all warriors. I can’t change that.” She paused to inhale, her entire body shaking. “I just, I can’t stand t’lose you, Piccolo.” His good arm slid around her shoulders, and he ignored the pain in his injury as he leaned over to kiss her. 

“I’d figure out how to come back,” he promised, breath tickling her ear, “no grave could hold my body down. I’d come crawling back to you. No dragon nor god could prevent me from returning to you.”

Chichi didn’t laugh as he half hoped, but she did turn to face him with a smile on her face, tears still shimmering in her eyes.

“I s’pose that’s all I can ask for, lovin’ a warrior, huh?”


	25. Doing Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for "Domestic Day" of Chiccolo Week!

When the hell had they ended up with four children? Piccolo held the back of Goten’s shirt with the hand not cradling the two-months hatched Viola, and his shin to block Suri’s attack. 

“Would you two cut it out? You’re brothers for all that is unholy!  _ Act like it!”  _ The ten and five year olds screamed and continued trying to kill each other over their father. “Goten.  _ Goten _ .  **_Goten_ ** !”   
“SURI STARTED IT.” 

“DID NOT.”   
“DID TOO.”   
“DID NOT!”

“DID TOO!”

“I don’t care who started it!” Piccolo roared, tucking the now-crying infant to his chest. “Neither one of you should be treating your brother this way.” He bounced Viola in his arms, attempting to calm the child before the tears and fussing became a fully fledged tantrum. “Go to your - no,” he remembered that they were currently sharing a room. “Goten, go to your room and do your homework. I know you have plenty of it. Suri,” the pudgy little namekian glowered up at him as Goten stormed off. Piccolo exhaled loudly through his nose. “Suri, you just. Just sit. Somewhere in this room.” The five year old gave him an incredibly dirty look before throwing himself down on the couch with his arms crossed, shoulders hunched, tears shining in amber eyes. Piccolo shifted Viola in his arms, the baby cooing and struggling in his arms. He sighed, and sat down next to his firstborn. He heard Chichi talking to Goten in the boys’ shared room. He closed his eyes. Being a real parent was hard. 

Much, much harder than anything he’d ever done with Gohan. Including dying. He pursed his lips, trying to listen to Chichi and the words she was using with Goten. It was too muffled through walls and her soft tone certainly wasn’t helping. Well, he supposed that he just had to be a parent. It was his whole job right now, after all. 

“Suri,” he began, adjusting his grip once more on the baby. Suri sank deeper into the couch, puffing his cheeks. “I don’t care who started it, and neither one of you is in trouble. But,” Piccolo swallowed, and Suri’s lower lip began to quiver in earnest. Piccolo plopped the baby in his son’s arms and pulled them both into his lap, holding Suri to his chest. “But, I can’t help but notice that my normally placid child is behaving quite uncharacteristically of late.”

Suri snuggled into his chest, cradling the baby. 

“I really like Viola, Papa.”

Alright, not the answer he was expecting. Dimly, he was aware of Chichi standing a few feet away, and he hoped she would jump in. “I really, really like Viola, and I’m happy to be a big brother. But,” Suri sniffled, “I like being the baby, Papa.” He looked up at Piccolo with his face all screwed up in tears, “I don’t wanna not be the baby anymore.” Piccolo’s mouth fell open, fangs hanging out of his mouth. He glanced at Chichi, but she only gave him a slightly raised chin in their son’s direction. He was on his own. 

“Suri,” he began, swallowing, “you, you will always be my baby. Even...even though we have Viola now...you’re still my baby. You’re always going to be the baby.” Partly because he could just tell that the child was never going to be any less of a giant crybaby at any point in his life. 

“Really?”   
“Really.”

He looked up as Suri snuggled into his chest, meeting Chichi’s eyes. She smiled, nodding as she crossed her arms. He was terrible at reading lips, but he was almost certain she mouthed, you did good” at him. He felt a little bit better, a little bit proud. 

Afterall, if the world’s best mother thought he did a good job, he had to have done pretty okay. 


	26. Fight with Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your character has just been in a fight with their father (or father figure) - how do they go about making up with their father?

“I am not talking to you until you have ceased crying.”

Suri sucked air through his teeth, muscles in his jaw aching from the force of holding in a scream of frustration. His breath whistled as it forced its way between clenched fangs. Eyes burned with more tears than what was truly healthy for anyone, let alone a namekian as he stared down at his father.  

“I’m not going to stop  _ crying _ until you  _ talk _ to me!”

“Then it seems we have reached an impasse.” His father’s eyes never opened, emerald face remaining blank. Suri thought he saw more tension crinkling the skin around Piccolo’s eyes than usual. But then again, it was always difficult to tell with him.  

“This is what you do, you just -” The scream barely contained in the teen’s chest rumbled out, curling his lips and forcing his claws into his palms. “You want me to punch you? Blast you through a fucking mountain? Well I don’t want to  _ do _ that, Pops. Not everyone is as emotionally…” he waved his now-bloody hand as if trying to find the most appropriate word floating around in the air, “ _ constipated _ as you!” 

Piccolo’s eyes finally opened, his perfect lotus position unravelling in an instant as he rose to his full height. His shadow fell over his son, body backlit by the sun cloaking them both in shadow. Where Gohan, Goten, or even Goku may have flinched away, Suri leaned forward.  

“That is  _ not _ what I want.” Piccolo’s chest expanded, then deflated with a long, drawn out sigh. Suri’s lip quivered, and he took a step closer to Piccolo. A fresh wave of tears pooled in his eyes, spilling over and following the sticky, burning salt lines left behind by their predecessors. His arms jerked, fingers twitching as he held his arms rigid to his sides. 

“Then what  _ do _ you want?” He choked. Although no words passed Piccolo’s lips, Suri felt emotions and concepts trickling through their emotional bond, warming him. Suri bit his lip, sucking it into his mouth as he internalized the meaning of the sensations. 

“You know I am not good at this,” his father finally verbalized, voice so soft only a namekian could have heard the words. “And I hate it when you cry.” Piccolo crossed his arms and harrumphed, “especially when I am the cause.” 

“Oh Papa…” Suri gave in to the urge and threw his arms around Piccolo’s middle, pressing his forehead to his father’s chest and letting the walls around his mind fall away. He sobbed, emotions and colors and fragments of thought flooding the channel connecting their minds as he poured his heart into his father’s head. “I love you too.”

“I never said that, you lump.” But heavy hands settled on his shoulders. 

Suri laughed then, tears blurring his vision as he looked up.

“You don’t have to, Popsicle.”


	27. Fashion Disaster?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Before I started this, you told me you would have my back - no matter what!”  
> “I know, and I’m sorry. But this is getting out of hand and I just can’t do this anymore.”

“What the hell is this?” 

“The hell is what?” Suri looked around, feigning disinterest in Marron’s greeting. He adjusted the straps on his backpack and slouched against his locker, looking down his nose at her. Marron’s perfectly manicured brows disappeared under her bangs as she looked him up and down, pointedly indicating his entire outfit. “Oh that,” the namekian tugged at the hem, admiring his jumper. “Isn’t it perfectly delightful? I found it while looking for geeky crap for Gohan’s birthday.” 

“Suri, it says ‘gay alien.’ Anyone can get that just by looking at your shoes.”

“ _ Fashion _ isn’t about  _ subtly _ , Marron.” The namekian sniffed, smoothing out the fabric. 

“Don’t  _ even _ get me started about those pants. There’s no way your mother let you out of the house wearing that -  _ no _ ,” Marron shook her head, running a hand through her hair. “Seriously, did Piccolo see you before you left this morning? Those pants - they give your crotch a face. You know what those  _ look like _ from far away?” 

Suri grinned, jamming his hands in the pockets. The eyes on the face bulged out, providing the nose with unnecessary emphasis. “You bought them because you thought it was -”

“You bet I did.” 

Marron covered her eyes, Suri’s grin stretched wider across his face. He looked just like his father had in the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament, albeit fatter. 

“Listen, listen, I know you’re doing all of this to piss off your dad and I respect that, but I cannot support... _ this _ .” She gestured to Suri in his entirety. 

Suri laid a hand over his heart, eyes widening, brows puckering in mock horror.

“You said you had my back  _ no matter what. _ We did a _ spit-shake _ , Marron.” 

His best friend closed her eyes just as the bell rang. 

“I know, and I’m sorry, but this...this is just too ridiculous. You’re long past fashion disaster at this point. My mother would short-circuit if she saw you right now.” 

Suri turned up his nose, huffing. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Mar.”


	28. Dressed Like That?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your character is in public and experiences a potentially embarrassing event. What happened? How do they compose themselves? Recover?

“Mr. and Mrs. Daimao…”  
Suri slouched in his chair, wishing he could turn to jelly and sink through the floor. His mother was going to kill him. His father was going to use the dragon balls to bring him back from the dead only to kill him again. “I’m glad you’re...here…?” Suri’s ears perked, hearing the concern in his teacher’s voice.   
Something sounded wrong about his father’s footsteps. Where was the swoosh of his cape? Suri turned, and his eyes bugged out of his head.   
No.  
No no no no no.  
“POPS, WHAT THE FUCK?”  
Piccolo stood next to Chichi, cool as a goddamn cucumber.   
Wearing Suri’s clothes.   
“Language!” Chichi’s fists made audible contact with her hips as she glowered at the young namekian. A vein stood out in her forehead, “you’re in enough trouble already, Mister!”   
“MOM!” Suri fell out of his chair with the force of his gesture, landing in a tangle on the classroom floor.   
“Do you realize how inappropriate your clothes are now, Brat?”   
“Like you can talk, my ass doesn’t hang out of those shorts!”


	29. Valentine's 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!

_ Humans certainly chose incredibly odd manners in which to show and celebrate their love and affection for one another, _ he mused as he skimmed the ingredients of a box of chocolates. If he ate any of these, he’d be sick.  _ Of course _ , he internally chastised himself,  _ these were supposed to be for Chichi.  _ He set the box back on the shelf and decided against adding the cheap box of what was probably more like flavored wax than chocolate to his cart and headed towards the self-checkout. Wasn’t there supposedly a little “mom and pop” shop downtown that made special treats for such occasions? Piccolo pursed his lips as he finished packing different types of rice, noodles, whatever fruits and vegetables they didn’t cultivate on the farm, milk, and an assortment of meats -  _ the essentials _ , as Chichi called them - into a large backpack, and began counting out coins and bills to force feed the temperamental machine. It meant yet another group of gawking humans staring at him and trying to avoid him, or even worse, sneak a picture of him on their phones. The machine beeped to tell him to take his items and get the hell out of the way for other customers; he shouldered the laden bag and exited the store, ignoring the looks he still received from townsfolk. Briefly, he wondered if the looks would ever stop. 

* * *

Ye Olde Candy Shoppe was altogether too gaudily colored. Very orange and pink. A bell tinkled above his head as he cautiously crept inside, peering around at the massive assortment of candies and chocolates. Piccolo blinked. The inside was even brighter and more ludicrously decorated than the outside. Now he understood why Goten was not allowed anywhere near the store… It was as if the store was held up entirely by boxes of chocolate and gummy bears the side of his head. His nose crinkled in a mix of disgust and fascination. Did people actually eat that? Perhaps he’d grab something for the boys and Goku. That would be the right thing to do. The giant gummy bear for Goku, Piccolo decided, picking up a green one.

“I hope you’re not buying that as a gift for a special someone in your life!” 

His ears perked, honing in on a voice from behind the counter. 

“Yes and no. A good friend.” 

“Ah,” a small woman bearing a remarkable resemblance to Uranai Baba waddled out into the main section of the store. “Well, they are common gag gifts, but no one really eats them.” Goku would, but Piccolo had never been one for sharing. “What else are you looking for? It is Valentine’s Day, afterall.” 

“A few small gifts, and then…” Piccolo paused, considering his next words, “something nice. For someone special.” 

The little shop keeper nodded with a sageness that reminded him of Kami. Great. 

“Well, we do make some homemade truffles, and I have fresh chocolate covered strawberries - rather popular.” Chichi liked strawberries. That might go over well, as long as he could keep Goten away from them for long enough for her to enjoy them. Maybe he should get Goten a jawbreaker. There were ones the size of tennis balls on the counter. “Come, come,” her wrinkled hand grabbed his wrist with surprising vigor and dragged him to a display case packed with more truffles and strawberries than he could have thought possible. How on Earth was he supposed to pick anything?!

* * *

 

“A jaw breaker for Goten,” the boy whooped and nearly had it in his mouth - and Piccolo’s hand with it - before realizing there was a plastic wrapping on it, “a chocolate bar pack for Gohan,” not the most creative gift but some were from other countries. He would appreciate it. Piccolo set the horrific gummy bear on the table. “That’s for Goku next time he’s around.” 

Chichi snorted. 

“That’s disgusting, and he’s going to eat the entire thing.” 

“Two bites at most,” he agreed, shaking his head. “But how do you not get it for him?”

She rolled her eyes and settled her hands on her hips. “Don’t give me such a look.” Piccolo complained, scowling at her tight expression. “I went in there for you.” 

“You really shouldn’t have,” Chichi ran a hand through her bangs, “it’ll ruin their appetites. And it’s such a silly holiday.”

“You would have upset if I hadn’t.”

“I would not!”

Piccolo raised an eyebrow, and Chichi gave him a look that clearly told him he was right, but she would never admit it. 

“Well. Here.” He shoved the box into her hand, “I hope they’re good.”

“You really shouldn’t have -- oh!  _ Strawberries _ !” She looked up, biting her lip and eyes soft. “Now I feel bad, I didn’t do a thing for you.” Piccolo shrugged, enjoying the odd warmth flooding his stomach and chest at the look on her face. 

Maybe that was why humans had so many odd ways of expressing ...things... for one another. 

It really did feel pleasant. 


End file.
